The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show
by seven dials
Summary: Yup, it's yet another obligatory Weiss Kreuz Rocky Horror parody. I know this isn't a new idea and tried very hard not to write this thing, but the muse insisted. Completed contains bad language, yaoiish sexual encounters and song parodies.
1. A Strange Journey

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show**  
A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila

Legal Bit: I don't own _Weiss Kreuz_. That's the job of Kyoko Tsuchiya, Koyasu Takehito and Project Weiss, along with any number of other companies who hold the licensing rights and publishing rights and various other kinds of rights whose purposes utterly escape me. I don't own the Rocky Horror Picture Show either. That's Richard O'Brien's, along with several other companies who hold the rights and released the movie and did lots of other important things.

Author's Notes: It's an Obligatory _Weiss Kreuz/Rocky Horror Picture Show_ Fic. Every single fandom has a _Rocky Horror_ fic. Some have more than one. This is my _Weiss Kreuz Rocky_: there must be others. I wrote this because if I hadn't done I'd have gone crazy thinking about it, not because I wanted to tread on anyone's toes. Seriously, once I'd dreamt up my ideal casting in the shower one afternoon, this fic almost literally poured out of me during the course of a nasty two-week-long illness. I couldn't have kept this from coming if I tried. Forgive me, please.  
A note on the song parodies. Yes, I did song parodies. They might not seem to scan quite right if you simply read them but I assure you they can be sung to the tunes of those in the film. I know because I've done it. Please note the allocation of lines in the 'Time Warp' isn't quite as in the film because I've heard three different versions of the song and in every one the lines after Magenta's solo get divided differently. I have retained the chorus to that song 'as was' – it's the goddam 'Time Warp', you can't change that one too much. I'm also restoring the songs which were cut. Well, why not?

Warnings: Strong language, character assassination, strange musical numbers and dance routines, shounen-ai style sexual complications, fanservice, Youji jumping half the cast, Persia in a wheelchair. Big boys and girls only please. I don't consider this R-rated for all there's sex and Ken curses a lot (I'm not American, I can't get my head round the US ratings system, and I really don't get why it's more acceptable in the eyes of said ratings system to kill someone than it is to fuck them), but I've rated it that way anyway because apparently some people out there are easily scared. So there you have it.

**Part One: A Strange Journey**

The wait was getting awkward. At the extreme left of a pitch-black room, a single white spotlight was playing upon nothing at all. By the fact that the lights were lowered and the spotlight was on, the story should have started – what was the holdup? Perhaps a technical hitch was causing the delay.

The only sound that could be heard was that of a hushed, though clearly heated, conversation.

"I don't want to do this!" a voice cried. By its timbre it was clearly young and female. "Why can't somebody else do it? Omi-san won't like a girl who goes out dressed like this!"  
"Because there's no way on Earth that Schuldich could." The reply, coming from an older woman with the cool, impersonal manner of a nurse, was delivered in reasonable tones, or as reasonable as it is possible for tones to get when their owner was speaking in a hushed whisper.  
"But it doesn't happen in the movie!" The girl protested. "It's only in the stage show! And why do I have to do it anyway? I don't get to do anything else! It's not fair!"  
"It's called a 'cameo'." The woman said rationally. "And if you don't do this you'll end up in the _Time Warp_ number. Dressing up as a cigarette girl is about a hundred times more dignified than doing the _Time Warp_. I'm sure Omi won't object to this."  
"But the song's awful!" The girl cried angrily. "I have to sing about sex scenes!"  
The woman sighed audibly. "The _Time Warp_ is worse."  
"Really?" The girl asked. "I don't want to do anything that would make Omi-san think I was cheap." "  
Really." The woman said, still sounding remarkably reasonable given the circumstances. "It has a very interesting dance routine. At least you don't have to do that dance. And," the woman added, with the air of one playing their biggest trump card, "I'm sure Omi will think the costume suits you."  
The girl was silent for a moment, then spoke up. "In that case, I'll do it!"

The figure of a slender teenager dressed in a cigarette girl's outfit, a silly little hat on top of her glossy black curls, took to the spotlight, tugging down her absurdly short skirt. She adjusted the strap on her cigarette tray, so it hung more comfortably and, just in case Omi was watching, patted back a curl or two. Maybe this outfit wasn't so bad after all. It did, after all, show off her legs to great advantage. Ouka Takaki cleared her throat, in preparation for her big number, and struck a playful pose.

For it had fallen to Ouka to deliver the prologue. She was slightly more aesthetically pleasing than a pair of giant lips, after all, fun though the lips were. Telling herself that at least this way she wouldn't have to do anything that would compromise her in front of Omi, Ouka launched sassily into her song.

**'Mild Spoiler – Don't It Figure'**

Ouka:  
Yes, I know it's quite true  
That this story ain't new  
And you've seen it all before.

And it couldn't be tense  
When there's no suspense.  
I gotta say it's really a bore.

This formula's old  
Hardly box-office gold  
There's no big surprises in here.

We're rehashing old shtick  
For this stupid fic  
If it weren't for the sex scenes who'd care?

Mild spoiler – Don't it figure?  
There's no need to watch the picture.  
The same old story, the same old places  
The same old names and the same old faces.  
Oh – at the late-night, double-feature  
Picture Show.

So I give you the story  
In its dubious glory.  
I could say more but what's the use?

I suppose you can see  
It's a flick parody  
So I guess there's some kinda excuse.

We ain't aiming that high  
We might as well try  
There's no harm in having a go.

So why not find out  
What this fuss is about?  
It's time to get on with the show  
It's a—

Mild spoiler – Don't it figure?  
There's no need to watch the picture.  
The same old story, the same old places  
The same old names and the same old faces.  
Oh – at the late-night, double-feature  
Picture Show.

Who'd wanna go  
Oh – to the late-night, double-feature  
Picture Show.

In the back row  
Oh – to the late-night, double-feature  
Picture Show.

This fanfic blows  
Oh – to the late-night, double-feature  
Picture Show.

The light winked out and Ouka hurried quickly away, slipping slightly on her high heels in her haste. Her work was done.

"Well I guess we finally made it, huh?"

The man who had finally made it, Botan, was a quietly handsome, youngish man in a dark suit, whose countenance was not at all marred by the fine white scar running along one cheek. He was smiling so broadly it looked as if the top of his head were about to come off. It made Ken Hidaka, who was already feeling ridiculously uncomfortable simply because he was having to wear a suit and tie which were Not Him at all, very nervous indeed and he wondered if there was any way he could run away from this strange and bizarre man without it looking rude. He smiled nervily, prayed Botan wasn't about to try and kill him, and tried to think of something to say.

"Of course you have, you've got married." Ken said finally. Oh, _smooth_. He glanced around, hoping nobody he knew would see him, and quickly added, "Well, you and Birman do make a pretty good couple and you've got on well since you joined Kritiker so…" Jesus Ken will you listen to yourself? When you've dug yourself into a hole _stop fucking digging_, okay? "Never mind. Can we start again?"  
Botan must have been in a good mood because he laughed cheerfully. "Of course we do, we've got married!" He said, punching Ken playfully on the shoulder. Ken bore this with good grace and a rather forced smile. "To be honest, Birman was the only reason I joined Kritiker in the first place. Speaking of which, I wish Persia could have made it down today."  
Ken blinked twice. "Come on, how could he have been here? He wouldn't be able to be moodily backlit in the middle of a church and I doubt the priest would have let him install the desk, fish-tank and Venetian blinds on such short notice. Still, it would have been nice to see his silhouette…"  
Botan nodded, remembering belatedly that Ken didn't actually know who Persia was. "Well, Birman and I will pass on your good wishes when we next see him."

By the church doors Birman, radiant in a white gown, was winding up in preparation for pitching her bouquet into the crowd, in a way that suggested here was a woman who, for all her refined delicacy, was rather more used to throwing hand grenades. A group of girls milled expectantly around the bottom of the stairs, jockeying for position. Unfortunately, they didn't quite seem to have taken into account the sheer force of Birman's over-arm lob.

The flowers shot from Birman's white-gloved hand and arced gracefully over the heads of the waiting girls, who turned and began to run after them, jumping and elbowing one another as they hurried to try and intercept the flowers. All their efforts, alas, were to prove to no avail as the flowers, tumbling end over end, flew neatly toward a solitary figure who raised their arms to defend their eyes from the lethal bouquet and ended up catching the flowers by the stems.

The girls stopped short, a couple of them crying out in dismay. Something had gone a little wrong.

Ken blinked. "Ah. Botan?"  
"What is it?" Botan said, finally tearing his gaze away from Birman, who had one hand to her brow as she searched for her vanished bouquet.  
"What happens if a guy catches a bride's flowers?" Ken asked plaintively, looking up at Botan as if hoping the man would tell him what to do next.  
"Why do you ask?" Botan asked, then he spotted the reason. "Oh."

Omi Tsukiyono smiled awkwardly and apologetically at Ken and looked around for somewhere to hide the flowers. He wasn't sure about the protocol of giving them away or dropping them, equally he didn't want to keep them. What to do, what to do. He settled for hiding them behind his back and looking as if he wanted the ground to open and swallow him up. He would have to apologize profusely to Ken the minute they were alone.

Botan wondered what to say next. Ken looked barely any more comfortable with the situation than Omi did, and the older man guessed he could understand why _that_ was. Being a fatherly sort, he decided the best thing to do was not to mention it. On the steps, Birman had finally located her missing bouquet and was hiding a smile behind her hand. She didn't much mind the mild disruption to Her Big Day; she actually thought it was rather cute and if it finally forced Ken to come clean about his all-too-obvious crush on Omi, or vice-versa, she would not consider it a waste. With the feeling of a job well done, she hitched up her skirts and hurried over to Botan, latching onto his arm and smiling.

Ken was quite glad to see Botan depart. He had been feeling ridiculously uncomfortable and when Botan ushered Birman to the waiting car, making a big thing of opening the door for her, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad, too, when the car pulled off and the rest of the group began to disperse, if only because it meant he could take off the tie, untuck his shirt and undo the top two buttons. He didn't take to suits. The one downside, though, was it meant he now had to think of something to say to Omi.

Omi had gone to stand a few feet away from Ken as the car pulled away and now stood fidgeting nervously, wondering where to put the flowers. The pair were so caught up in their mutual anxieties that they failed to notice they weren't _quite_ alone.

Neither Ken or Omi had really registered the presence, throughout the wedding photos, the bouquet tossing and all the rigmarole of the end of a marriage ceremony, of a strange trio dressed in dramatically drab, work-worn and antiquated clothing. In fact it looked as if the strangers were attempting to cosplay the painting _American Gothic_, for no discernable reason. The father certainly had the little glasses and the obligatory pitchfork though he was far too sternly attractive to take to the role; his wife, though red-headed, was slightly taller than him, grinning far too broadly for a God-fearing Quaker and looked like nothing so much as a man in a dress. The daughter slipped into the church the minute the doors were clear but there was something disquieting about her, too. Maybe it was the way the heavy church doors had opened in front of her without her lifting so much as a finger.

In short, they utterly failed to notice that they were being spied on by Crawford and Schuldich, ably backed up by Nagi Naoe. In spite of their weird clothing the three were quite recognizable and the fact that neither Ken or Omi noticed anything untoward can only be put down to the extreme astigmatism anxiety and the presence of someone you have a crush on can induce.

"Omi?" Ken said finally. "Please tell me you weren't trying to catch those things…"  
Omi shook his head vehemently. "No! Of course not! Birman-san threw them too hard!" He blushed to the roots of his hair and looked quite adorably embarrassed, making Ken laugh nervously at the direction his own thoughts were taking. "Don't laugh!" Omi cried in chagrined fury. "It's not funny!"  
"I wasn't laughing at you!" Ken said quickly, taking a pace away and blushing himself. "I just… thought of something." He looked away and bit his lip. Quick, think of something neutral to say. "Um. Omi. Did you like the ceremony?"  
Omi nodded, feeling his blush start to fade slightly. "Uh-huh. Birman-san looked very pretty, didn't she?"  
"Yeah, she did." It seemed a safe kind of thing to admit to. "Botan's very lucky."  
"He is." Omi said anxiously. "He's a good agent. He'll be in line for promotion soon enough."

The neutral topic really wasn't helping. There was an undercurrent of something in the air and neither Ken or Omi liked it. Both boys were rather too naïve to realize that said something was pure animal lust and the reason they were feeling uncomfortable around one another was that they needed to admit it then do something about it and fast. Ken had a horrible feeling he wanted to say _fuck Botan, can I kiss you_? and the thought made him blush again.

"Fuck Botan." Ken said suddenly. "He's… not important right now."  
"What do you mean?" Omi blinked. "There's no need to be crude, Ken-kun…"  
"Well he isn't." Ken muttered, staring fixedly at the floor. "I mean you got those flowers, something's got to happen, right?"  
Omi felt his cheeks growing warm again. "Ken-kun?"  
Ken shrugged, glancing almost shyly at Omi from under a fall of his rebellious hair. "I mean, I know you can't become a bride and all that because you're not a girl, but…" He broke off, unsure how to phrase the rest of it.  
Omi blinked. "Are you feeling all right?" Ken didn't look at all happy and he wanted to know why. Had he been that taken aback by the flower thing? Omi swore he would let Birman have it, but politely mind, next time he saw her. The woman must have known she'd miss those girls, the way she wound up and pitched the thing right at him!

**'Blow Me, Omi'**

Ken tried again. "Um. You did catch that bouquet."  
Omi frowned and blushed at the same time. "Yes, you said." Where was Ken going with this apart from round and round in circles?  
"Yeah yeah, I know." Now Ken blushed himself. "That's… really not what I want to say."  
"Then what is it?" Omi blinked.  
Ken sighed. "Well, it's more kind of… oh, fuck it!"

Ken:  
There ain't a lot that rhymes with Omi,

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Crawford and Schuldich echoed him, so flatly as to bleach the boy's name of all its significance. Ken didn't seem to notice that the strange figures by the church seemed to have arrived on the scene solely to echo him. He was too busy looking everywhere but at Omi and running one hand nervously through his hair. He smiled, but it didn't make him look any more comfortable.

Ken:  
This song seems designed just to throw me.

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Ken:  
But hell, I'm sick of being lonely.

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Ken:  
What I'm trying to say here is  
Blow me, Omi,

"That's not an instruction…" Ken added quickly and nervously. He was already so ill at ease it was hard to tell if the thought had made him blush or not.

Ken:  
I love you.

I'll tell you now you've gotten to me.

Crawford and Schuldich  
_Omi._

Ken had started to walk quickly away from Omi, perhaps because he was too embarrassed to be near him any more. Omi tagged along after him, eyes wide and mouth open, unsure if he could quite believe what was going on. No wonder it had taken Ken so long to come to the point. He was well aware he was blushing furiously. He just wished Ken seemed a little less upset about being in love with him.

Ken:  
You're smart so I bet you've seen through me.

Crawford and Schuldich  
_Omi._

Ken:  
And now I'm sure you'd like to shoot me.

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Ken:  
What I'm trying to say here is  
Blow me, Omi,  
I love you.

Crawford and Schuldich were rather surprised to realize that, though Ken and Omi had both made it to the church doors and was now stood bare feet away from them, they still didn't seem to have noticed them. Omi was too busy staring at Ken and Ken, running his hands through his hair again, was staring at the stone steps as if there was something fascinating there rather than a cluster of confetti, a few stones and a bit of moss.

Ken:  
I bet you're mad and hell, I wouldn't blame you,  
And I'd quite like to drop dead on the spot.  
This kind of love's perverse so it might shame you  
But gotta say I like you quite a lot…

Omi finally found his voice. As Crawford and Schuldich opened the church doors, Omi grabbed Ken's wrist and yanked him into the church behind him, smiling broadly. Ken, stumbling slightly on one of the flagstones, seemed too startled by the fact that Omi was touching his wrist after he'd confessed to being hopelessly in love with him to look where he was going, let alone that the church was now being decked for a funeral. Neither he or Omi noticed Nagi either.

Omi:  
Oh, I'm glad that you've finally spoken!

He didn't seem to notice Schuldich look up from the flower arrangement he was busily ruining to echo him, his voice blatantly mocking.

Schuldich:  
_Hey, Ken._

Omi:  
I couldn't care less that we're both men.

Schuldich and Nagi:  
_Hey, Ken._

Omi:  
Take it back and my heart's broken.

Now all three of the strange individuals were staring at Omi and Ken over the tops of the clusters of flower arrangements, now all replaced by funereal lilies and mourning garlands. Which again they failed to notice but, on the other hand, as Omi was busy unburdening his heart and Ken appeared to have gone into shock, it was perhaps unsurprising.

Crawford, Schuldich, and Nagi:  
_Hey, Ken._

Omi:  
What I'll say over and over  
Again, is Ken,  
I love you.

Oh, Ken,

Ken:  
You're not mad?

Omi:  
My heart's open

Ken:  
God, I'm glad.

Omi:  
For you.

Ken:  
I love you too.

Ken and Omi:  
It's crazy enough to be true!

They kissed briefly, or rather Ken finally worked up the nerve to kiss Omi and damn near floored the little blonde in the process. Omi blushed and giggled giddily, clinging to Ken's hand. Behind them, Crawford, Schuldich and Nagi carrying a coffin into the church, or rather Crawford and Schuldich carried the front end whilst Nagi stood at the back and thought about lifting the coffin. That Ken and Omi managed to ignore this was some tribute to how wrapped up in one another they were.

Ken:  
It's hard to believe you're not angry,

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Ken:  
I hadn't a clue that you loved me.

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Ken:  
But knowing you do – it relieves me

Crawford and Schuldich:  
_Omi._

Ken:  
What I'm trying to say here is  
Blow me, Omi,  
I love you.

Now Omi, unable to contain himself, practically flung himself at Ken and quite literally floored him. Ken didn't seem to care and hugged Omi anyway. Behind them, _die Familie Schwartz_ had placed the coffin on the floor and were looking stonily across the lovebirds' heads. They might as well not have bothered for all the attention they were paid.

Ken:  
Blow me, Omi,

Omi:  
Once again, Ken

Ken:  
Blow me, Omi,

Ken and Omi:  
I love you.

Lying on the church floor in one another's arms, utterly ignorant of the coffin or their audience, Ken and Omi kissed far less chastely than might have been expected, both perfectly inexperienced and not minding a bit. Yes, they were living in their own private Idaho and who said that was such a bad thing? A little bit of sexual fantasy does nobody any harm.

"I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey."

The figure in the plush wing chair, leaning on the blotter of the impressive desk with its globe of the world in that oak-paneled, book-lined study, was not that of a pompous, pedagogic old Professor of Criminology but that of Manx. She was a pretty, busty young woman with a head of bright red curls, dressed in an equally bright suit. Manx, as it happened, was employed by the police but she was far from the typical employee. As she spoke, she climbed gracefully to her feet and crossed over to one of the bookcases and selected a fat, leather-bound tome which she carried back to the desk.

As she placed the book on the back of a lectern, its title – 'The Fujimiya Experiment' – could be seen for a second or two. With a smile, the young woman flipped through it until she found her place and then sat down in front of it, steepling her hands in front of her.

"It seemed a fairly ordinary night," Manx began portentously, "when Ken Hidaka and his close friend Omi Tsukiyono (two young, ordinary, healthy kids who just happened to be assassins)…" Photographs in the book showed the individuals in question, Omi smiling perkily into the camera and Ken, who had been caught off-guard by the flash, looking as if he had a vacancy in the top story of the tower, "left town on that late November evening in an attempt to get a bit of time alone and, if it proved convenient, to visit Persia, their elusive superior, whom neither of them met unless he was asking them to kill somebody and even then it was only by video-link." She flipped the pages until she found a picture of Persia, looking dynamic, shadowy and considerably more together than either of his companions in weirdness.

In which case, Manx wondered, why on Earth did they want to visit him? How did they intend to visit him in the first place? She frowned briefly then decided not to worry about it. Maybe it would be better if she read the book and stopped worrying about what it was supposed to mean. Meaning wasn't important in tales of the unexplained. They wouldn't have been tales of the unexplained if they had been explicable.

"It was true there were storm clouds, heavy, black and pendulous—" Manx made a mental note to look up the word 'pendulous' as soon as she got a spare five minutes, "—in the direction they were driving, and as a lot of individuals in their situation can't drive a car down a clear road at midday without getting into a wreck they should have known a lot better. And perhaps predictably Ken had neglected to check if the car's repair kit was in any fit state for use. But they being about as normal as one could remain whilst still moonlighting as assassins, they were not going to let a storm put them off visiting a man neither had any pressing or indeed relevant need to visit in the first place. On a night out."

Manx closed the book after marking her place, glad to have got rid of it even if it was only temporarily. She wasn't sure about the whole visual-aid thing. In fact, she wasn't sure about a lot of this but she was hiding it. Resting her hands on the desk, she let a sinister smirk play across her painted lips.

"It was a night out," she crooned, "they were going to remember for a very long time."


	2. Let's do the Time Warp Again

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show**  
A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila

**Part Two: Let's Do the Time Warp Again **

Ken wasn't that fond of driving cars. He certainly wasn't fond of driving the car he was currently in which screamed 'I have been borrowed from an older relative'. Left to himself he would far rather have taken his bike and had Omi do likewise but, what with the threat of rain taken into account, it hadn't seemed like such a great idea. Besides, he was on almost-maybe-could-this-_possibly_-be-called-a-date? with Omi which was both exhilarating and embarrassing at the same time. Was it polite to expect your date to want to ride a motorbike in the middle of a storm? It certainly wasn't conducive to conversation. Then again, nor was concentrating on trying to drive an aging car in the middle of a rainstorm.

A biker zipped past the window. Ken just about managed not to mutter 'lucky bastard' under his breath.

Next to him, Omi fidgeted nervously and fiddled with the tuning knob on the radio, trying futilely to find, amongst the static, dull discussion programs, symphonies full of doom-filled violins and wall-to-wall J-pop, a station which wouldn't make him want to rip his ears off. As he searched, a biker zipped past the window. What with the rain and Ken's struggles with the car, he didn't want to risk a conversation.

Yet another biker zipped past the window and Omi sighed. They should have taken their own bikes. It would have made more sense than borrowing this wretched car.

"Why are we in this car?" Omi asked finally.  
"Now that," Ken muttered, squinting through the rain-smeared windshield at the road, "is the million-dollar question. Why are we in this car?" Misguided chivalry, perhaps?  
"I hoped you'd know that." Omi said with a sigh. "I mean, it's not like there aren't people out there on motorbikes. I've seen three bikers already…"

Ken glanced across at him briefly and smiled, but he didn't reply. With conversation so scintillating and witty it hardly seemed worth trying to maintain the same high standard. He went back to staring out of the window at the road, not terribly happy with its blackness and general lack of illumination, all the while wondering just where the hell he thought he was taking Omi anyway. This was no night to be out. A night in was sounding more and more attractive by the minute.

Omi, who had been staring out of the side window at the rain, looked round again when he realized they had stopped moving, the engine idling. The car's headlights were illuminating a field and a hand-lettered sign reading 'Dead End' tacked to a rotting wooden fence.

"What's going on?" He asked, blinking and gratefully turning the radio off. "Are we lost?"  
Ken nodded. "Either that or someone's moved the roads around. Yes, we're lost."  
"I didn't think this looked right," Omi muttered, "but did you listen?"  
"Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in…" Ken blinked as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, if this is a dead end then where'd the bikers come from? Do they grow them out there or something?"

Omi ignored him. Much as he adored Ken, sometimes the best, nay only thing to do with him was ignore him. He sighed and dug in the glove compartment, pulling out a road map and a packet of chocolate pocky. He slipped a piece of the pocky between his lips as he unfurled the map, frowning as he tried to orient himself. The map was rotated two or three times as the boy pored over it, finally coming to the conclusion that he didn't know where they were and they were lost. Next to him, Ken leant back in his seat and gazed disconsolately out at the night. For a while the only sound was the rustling of paper.

"What do you say we forget the whole thing, go back home and order a pizza or something?" Ken asked finally. "This is getting more and more stupid by the minute. I don't want to see Persia anyway, he'd only ruin the evening by asking us to kill someone…"  
"Agreed." Omi said, glad Ken had been the first to say it. "Let's go back, Ken-kun. This is a dumb idea."  
Ken nodded purposefully, relieved. "Then let's get out of here, okay?"

Which was a nice idea, not to mention a good idea, but an idea which, sadly, would be doomed to failure. Bare seconds after Ken had put the car into reverse one of the wheels skidded in the mud and, with an audible bang, gave up the ghost. Inside the car gave a shudder and listed alarmingly to one side. Omi yelped whilst Ken muttered a few interesting curse-words and turned the engine off. For a moment the couple simply stared at one another, both rather more alarmed than they would have cared to admit even to each other, until Ken, as was his wont, broke the silence.

"I'm hoping that was a tire and not the engine."  
"I don't think it was the engine." Omi said logically. "I can't see any smoke or smell anything bad. Um… do we have a spare?"  
"We should have." Ken said hopefully. "Um. Wait here, okay?"

Omi waited in silence for a few anxious moments as Ken, shrugging on his jacket, ducked out of the car and into a torrential downpour. After no more than a minute or two he reappeared, already soaked and looking rather peeved. Slamming the door shut behind him and sitting tentatively on the edge of the seat, Ken raked his wet hair from his eyes and sighed.

"No joy?" Omi asked nervously.  
"Spare tire," Ken said simply, "no jack."  
"Well, we've still got a mobile," Omi dug in the dashboard again, retrieving a cel phone and turning it on. He looked down at it for an expectant moment, only to drop it in his lap in disgust. "There's no signal. Well, we are in the back of beyond out here…"  
"Isn't that just fucking _typical_." Ken said wearily, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. "Looks like we're stuck here."

There was a brief and awkward silence as Omi gazed nervously around himself and Ken tried to fall asleep sitting up. The weather chose that moment to do atmospheric and creepy things around them. A bolt of lightning bisected the sky and hit a nearby tree, which sizzled half-heartedly. If it was at all possible, the rain appeared to be getting worse.

"Well…" Omi said tentatively after a few silent minutes had passed, "We could go for help. I saw this castle thingy a few miles back. And maybe the phone'll work better somewhere else."  
Ken raised his head. "For real? Well, it beats sitting here waiting. You stay here and I'll go."  
Omi giggled, surprised. "Ken-kun, it's sweet of you but you don't know where it is. I'm going too."  
"I'll follow the road." Ken said hopelessly optimistically. "There's no point you getting soaked too. I mean, at least I'm wet already. It doesn't bother me if I get wetter."  
Omi shook his head. "I'm coming too. I don't want you wandering round out there alone. It's safer if we stick together. Don't you watch horror films? Bad things _always_ happen when people split up!"  
"Yeah, I've watched horror films, Omi." Ken said dourly. Jesus, no wonder this situation was giving him the creeps – the whole 'car breaks down on isolated road on rainy night' thing was a scenario straight out of every cheesy horror film ever made and he wanted no part in it. "Which is why I _don't_ want you going to that castle. Come on, a freaky evil castle out in the middle of nowhere? There's bound to be something weird going on there and I'd rather you didn't have to deal with it."  
Omi pouted determinedly. "I'm a trained killer, Ken-kun. We'll handle whatever it is together, okay?" All the same, Omi couldn't help but wish he'd thought to stick his assassin gear in the trunk along with the spare tire and nonexistent jack.

Omi had that look in his eyes, leaving Ken with nothing to do but to give in gracefully. Capitulating (and secretly rather glad for the company), he stepped back out of the car, turning up the collar of his already damp leather jacket and gazing pensively down the gloomy road. They should have stayed home. Behind him, Omi scrambled from the car and tugged his own jacket around himself, huddling into it. The rain lashed at his bare legs as he slammed the car door and hurried over to join Ken.

"Okay?" Omi asked, his usually indomitable smile wavering slightly.  
Ken nodded. "Sure." And he slipped his arm round Omi's shoulders, as if hoping to protect him from the worst of the weather; or maybe he just wanted to hold him. Another clap of thunder burst overhead and Ken glanced up at the sky, though there was nothing to see. Just clouds and rain and tree branches and more rain. This really was turning into one hell of an evening. Oh well, it'd be a talking point in later life…

Ken didn't know how right he was. But let him live in happy ignorance for a short while longer.

Exchanging anxious smiles, the pair hurried down the road in the direction of the castle. Though they both would have denied it if the other had called them on it, the atmosphere was working on them both. Omi, nervous, crept a little closer to Ken. He hated to admit it (he was a boy, after all) but having Ken close made him feel a little better. Not much but a little, and in circumstances such as these an individual took what comfort they could wherever they found it.

'In The Weird Place Over There'

Omi:  
God, why am I out here  
In this pouring rain?  
It's insane  
Like a parody.  
As if we're stuck in a B-movie.

Ken and Omi:  
There's a light

Phantom Voices:  
In the weird place over there.

Ken:  
There's a light

Phantom Voices:  
In the cupboard under the stair.

Omi:  
There's a light, a light  
In the darkness of a creepy cliché of a night.

They walked through the grounds of the castle and toward the drive, passed on their way by three more motorcyclists, riding in convoy – once again, Ken wished he hadn't bothered with the car. The castle itself loomed in the middle distance. The place hadn't looked at all hospitable from the road; it would have been nice if, closer to, things had been different but it wasn't. The only visible lights came from a strange glass observatory on the roof, and a small window in a high turret. In short, it looked every inch the typical spooky house. Ken wanted to bolt and if it hadn't been for Omi he might well have done.

Ken:  
Things are getting weird  
Why, I have no clue.  
What to do?  
Should we leave things lie?  
God knows I don't want to  
See you die.

Ken and Omi:  
There's a light

Phantom Voices:  
In the weird place over there.

Ken:  
There's a light

Phantom Voices:  
In the cupboard under the stair.

Ken:  
There's a light, a light  
In the darkness of a creepy cliché of a night.

In a single lighted turret window, a silhouetted figure looked down on the couple and rested his forehead against the glass. Shadows played eerily over his face, which would have made him look cadaverous and malign if his even, handsome features had taken to eerie shadow. As if he knew he couldn't manage the 'cadaverous' thing, the young man made up for it by going for broke on the 'malign' angle. He looked dangerously knowing. He smiled. Everything was proceeding as he had foreseen…

Crawford:  
I'm cool and refined  
And who knows quite what I'm scheming?  
Fear's what you'll find  
In the patterns of life's dreaming.  
Step into the night.  
Into the night.

As they were far too busy being drenched, Ken and Omi didn't notice his shadow as they started to move down the drive, sticking close. Rain dripped off the trees and thunder burst overhead. Again.

Ken and Omi:  
There's a light

Phantom Voices:  
In the weird place over there.

Ken and Omi:  
There's a light

Phantom Voices:  
In the cupboard under the stair.

Ken and Omi:  
There's a light, a light  
In the darkness of a creepy cliché of a night.

"So." Manx said dramatically, posed heavily behind her blotter and wishing she was a pipe smoker – for some reason puffing dramatically on a pipe seemed a good idea – as she looked up from her once-again open dossier, "it appeared Dame Fortune was looking benevolently on the plight of our heroes."

(Though Manx didn't think Omi or even the optimistic Ken believed that for a moment. Omi hadn't looked overwhelmed with joy as he walked to the house and as for Ken, the closer they got the more obvious it became that he was worried both for Omi and for himself and was pretending he wasn't. Omi's presence, Manx knew, would be helping him keep face but all the same that boy obviously did not want to be where he was. Not unarmed, anyway.)

"Indeed, it seemed that Ken and Omi had found the assistance their plight required… or had they?" She leant forward urgently in her chair. The answer to the rhetorical question was _obviously not_ because then there'd be no story. "For fortune can be a fickle mistress indeed…"

Smiling calculatingly, Manx marked her place and closed the book. Things were about to get interesting.

"It's like something out of a horror film." Ken said, looking up at the castle from beneath a curtain of wet hair. "I mean… it's really like something from a horror film."  
Omi shivered slightly. "Maybe we should go back to the car…" he began.  
Which was exactly what Ken was thinking. "Yeah. I don't like the look of this one bit. We can bear with it for a night, can't we?"  
"I'm sure we can." Omi took a pace back, then abruptly changed his mind. "But we've come all this way and we're both drenched, so we might as well see if they've got a phone."  
"Whatever." Ken said wearily.

With one last uncertain glance at Omi, he reached out and rung the doorbell. He wasn't in the mood for a long debate on the merits and demerits of the idea. If Omi wanted to look for a phone then that was what they'd do – he was quite happy to step back and let the younger boy make the running. Though he wished he'd held out for going back to the car when he actually heard the sound the bell made. It didn't sound a bit like a doorbell.

The couple exchanged an anxious glance. In so doing, Omi realized that Ken looked as if he had fallen into a service canal or had decided to go swimming in his clothes and was in no fit state to be paying any kind of visit to anybody. Some similar realization was dawning on Ken _vis-à-vis_ Omi. They both wondered briefly what the hell they thought they were doing – it had to be brief, interrupted as it was by the sound of footsteps approaching down an uncarpeted entrance hall.

The sound of a bolt being drawn back. A squeak of poorly-oiled hinges. "Hello."

Omi took a pace back, startled, as he clapped eyes on the figure standing in the doorway. Ken blinked and frowned. The man, known by most simply as Crawford, was tall, dark and cruelly handsome. Though the black suit and tie he wore was rather shabby, he wore it well, like a man who had been accustomed to rather better things. His short, jet-black hair was neatly groomed and fell out of his eyes; the glasses that he wore gave him an air of intelligence. His entire demeanor was that of a man who knew too much for anyone to be comfortable in his presence, a man who, too, was aware of that fact and reveled in it. He made Ken and Omi feel very uncomfortable indeed, and very aware of their own disheveled state.

"Um, hi." Ken said finally, feeling the onus was on him to break the silence. "My name's Ken Hidaka and this is… um…" He colored slightly, wondering how to describe his connection to Omi to this tall, severe man with his cunning eyes and knife-blade smile. This is my boyfriend? My partner? Associate? Close friend? Companion? Lover? Fuck buddy I've yet to fuck? "This is Omi Tsukiyono." He said finally, grinning uncomfortably. "I like him. I'm sorry to bother you by calling so late but do you have a phone we could use? The car's bust and we're stranded."  
Crawford looked from Ken to Omi and then back to Ken, his gaze flatly assessing, before speaking again.  
"You're wet," he said, in the manner of one enunciating a great truth.  
This was too much for Ken. "Of course we're bloody wet!" He exclaimed.  
Omi giggled anxiously. "Ssh, Ken-kun!" He gave Crawford an anxious, but still sweet smile. "We left the car about two miles back and the rain's been very heavy." He said finally.  
"Yes." Ken said, as if to back him up.  
"Yes." Crawford echoed.  
"Yes." Omi said with desperate brightness.

The whole lost-and-found quasi-conversation could have become unbelievably silly if fate, in the shape of a bolt of lightening, hadn't intervened by illuminating a row of motorbikes parked by the castle-house-monstrosity. Ken noticed them and Crawford noticed that he'd noticed, his gaze suddenly becoming steely. Omi just blinked; he hadn't seen a thing.

"Oh, so all the bikers were going _here_?" Ken said, surprised. Crawford gave him a dire look and he blinked again. "What?"  
"You'd both better come in." Crawford said expressively, stepping back and pushing the door open a little wider, leaving just enough room for the newcomers to step inside.  
"Thank you." Omi replied, looking apprehensively round himself. "You're very kind."  
Ken looked mystified. "Did I say something wrong?"

He followed Omi in anyway, sticking close to the boy but looking round himself in something approaching curiosity as they entered the hall. If the place had looked every inch the typical horror-movie spooky house from the outside, inside the impression was only strengthened. Ken noted heavy, moth-eaten curtains, antique furniture, cracked, dust-furred mirrors, a skeleton in a coffin, a portrait of an old farmer and his wife in dramatically drab clothing, candles _everywhere_. Who the hell lived like this?

Omi, however, had noticed the music.

"Ken-kun," he whispered, "what do you think this place is?"  
Ken shrugged. "Some kind of EGL holiday home, perhaps." He said, looking suspiciously at the skeleton in its coffin. "Or maybe it's a playboy pad for the world's weirdest bachelor." Hearing that, Crawford gave Ken another quick, sharp glance. He didn't think he was going to like this kid.  
Omi giggled in spite of himself. "I think it's a private house. The décor is kind of on the personal side."

The pair fell silent again as they followed the determinedly dour Crawford down the hallway, Omi getting the distinct impression that he and Ken (who had stopped short to stare at the painting of the farmers, curiosity written plainly in his expressive brown eyes) were intruding on something. Crawford had a preoccupied air, as if their interruption had come whilst he was in the middle of something very important and he was now heading back to get on with whatever it was regardless of their presence. If he was busy, Omi theorized, wouldn't it be in his best interests to show them to the phone straight away so that they could get out of here and he could get on with… well, whatever it was?

"We're not interrupting anything, are we?" Omi asked nervously. Ken, looking over his shoulder at the boy and realizing the others were several feet down the hall, quickly left the painting and hurried back over to Omi's side. There was safety in numbers. When Crawford didn't answer Omi tried again. "Are you giving a party or something?"  
"Or something." Ken said, clearly feeling that was rather more likely than a party.  
"No." Crawford suddenly stopped short; Ken nearly walked into him. "You've arrived on rather a special night. The master is having one of his affairs."  
"Affairs?" Ken echoed. "You mean like extramarital sex? That kind of affair?"  
"No I'm sure that's not what he means Ken-kun!" Omi hissed. Aloud, forcing himself to smile at the dour Crawford and rather disappointed when the man's indifferent expression still didn't change an iota, he said, rather lamely he felt, "Oh, how nice for him." He didn't really know what else to say and hoped against hope that Ken wouldn't either. This whole set-up was odd, very odd indeed, and Omi felt it keenly. The Master? Who was the Master? He didn't really want to know the answer to that last question. Ignorance, in this case, was most assuredly bliss.  
"Isn't it though?"

Omi started. Ken raised his head and his eyes widened in surprise. They hadn't noticed the third party on the stairway, though said third party had clearly noticed them.

The figure was tall, slender and dressed, like Crawford, in a black suit which, though of an expensive and elegant cut which flattered his lithe form perfectly, had seen better days. His white shirt, however, was open almost to the navel and had an alarmingly flamboyant collar and cuffs. The apron he wore didn't really suit him but he didn't seem to care. His long, paprika-red hair, though ostensibly held back with a plain white bandana, tumbled in artful disarray around his almost feline face. Schuldich was smiling.

As Omi and Ken watched the young man jumped onto the banister, sliding down it and, one hand resting on the decorative post at the start of the stair rail, leant over to look at the pair of them, putting himself alarmingly into their personal space. Omi stepped away in startled dismay; Ken placed his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"Um, hi." Ken said nervily to fill the silence that followed. "Do you know where the phone is?"  
Schuldich chose to ignore him. "Of course it's nice." He said, directing his expansive, feral grin at Omi and making the boy squeak in surprise. "For you, for us, for _every_body."

Omi flushed and moved a little closer to Ken, who was staring between Crawford and Schuldich in some confusion. Just what, exactly, was going on here? He was beginning to wonder if these people even had a telephone – a ridiculous thing to think in this day and age, but he'd certainly seen no sign of one. Maybe it was one of those old-fashioned ones…

Omi, meanwhile, wrenched his gaze away with some effort from the clearly quite insane Schuldich and instead looked imploringly at Crawford, wide blue eyes beseeching. It was a sight which touched Ken's heart; too bad Omi wasn't hoping for anything from Ken and Crawford didn't seem to have noticed that he was being looked at imploringly by a bona fide blonde bishounen. Crawford, in fact, was beginning to look a little peculiar.

"Ken-kun?" Omi whispered. "What are they doing?"  
"Not a clue." Ken said simply. "But I don't think it's got anything to do with the phone…"

'The Time Warp'

Crawford:  
It's essential  
Is this number  
Madness ain't my thing.  
It's far from tasteful,

Schuldich:  
Crawford, why not surrender?

Crawford:  
I just can't keep it in.

And, that being said, Bradley Crawford launched into a wild dance. Schuldich sprang from the banister and joined him, grinning like an even more demented Cheshire Cat. Ken looked at the pair in absolute incredulity until, unable to quite believe what he was seeing, he placed one hand to his own forehead as if testing for a temperature. "Omi, you're the smart one… what the fuck is going on here?" "That's a _really_ good question, Ken-kun!" Omi said, his voice high and panicked. He realized, much to his own discomfiture, that he had started clinging to Ken.

Crawford:  
I remember doing the Time Warp  
And never you two mind quite when,  
It's rather arousing

Crawford and Schuldich:  
Hell, it's almost a calling.

Crawford threw open the double doors in front of them revealing an immense Gothic ballroom packed full of guests, all of whom were dressed in bizarre evening wear – mainly women in skimpy dresses but there were plenty of hangers-on and even one person who actually lived there. A banner strung across the room proclaimed the crowd to be attendees of the Third Annual Kudou Convention, all busily engaged in letting their hair down. They gazed up at the figures at the doors in rapture, raising their hands to them.

Guests:  
Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

At which point the guests broke into a choreographed step which managed to be almost, but not entirely, obscene. Omi, with the horrible feeling that he and Ken had somehow managed to walk in on an orgy, clung so tightly to Ken he fancied he heard the older boy mutter a small, soft 'ouch' under his breath.

Meanwhile, alone in her study, Manx unreeled a large chart of the dance steps and, brandishing a pointy stick like a demented weathergirl, was pointing to each of them in turn.

Manx:  
It's just a jump to the left.

Guests:  
And then a step to the ri-i-i-ight.

Manx:  
With your hands on your hips.

Guests:  
You bring your knees in tight.  
But it's the pelvic thrust  
That really drives you insane.

Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

By this point, Ken and Omi had somehow ended up in the ballroom proper. Neither, it had to be said, was exactly thrilled by the development. Omi didn't think he had ever been more embarrassed in his life whilst Ken was staring at the dancers with the same air of guilty fascination as that of a man witnessing a jumbo jet crash. He knew he shouldn't be looking, but he couldn't seem to make himself turn away.

Schuldich:  
My name means 'guilty'  
And you betcha it suits me  
You can't hide from me  
When I can get inside your mind.  
My ways are mysterious  
And I'm just fucking devious  
I'm sadistic; it's okay.

Omi gave a small, soft sound. Ken looked down and was surprised and consternated to see that the boy had buried his head in his bomber jacket. Was Omi that uncomfortable? Well so was Ken but in the absence of anyone to cling to or hide behind he was having to cope. He settled for putting his arms protectively around Omi and staring around the ballroom. What the hell? No, really… what the _hell_?

Schuldich:  
I'll put your mind in a muddle  
I'm nothing but trouble  
Guess what? I'm not exactly sane.  
'Cause I love the sensation  
Of another's frustration.

Guests:  
Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

And then there was Nagi. Somber, serious-minded Nagi Naoe was sitting on top of a jukebox wearing hot pants, a silly jacket and an unflattering hat, utterly failing to look even slightly carefree. How could anyone manage to wear so many sequins and yet so little clothing? He didn't look himself at all.

Nagi:  
You know I'm pretty damn dour  
For a boy of fifteen  
Inside I hate the world  
In public I'm serene.  
I could make you drop dead  
With the power of my mind  
And let it never be said  
That I'm remotely kind.  
I've a sensitive side,  
But it's hidden quite well  
Why'm I angsty –  
I'm not going to tell.

Guests:  
Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

In the study, Manx had become rather involved in the dance. The chart and pointer long since forgotten, she had scrambled onto her blotter and was now enthusiastically joining in with the steps, so much so it was a wonder she wasn't knocking the desk's contents flying or launching himself onto the carpet.

Manx:  
It's just a jump to the left.

Guests:  
And then a step to the ri-i-i-ight.

Manx:  
With your hands on your hips.

Guests:  
You bring your knees in tight.  
But it's the pelvic thrust  
That really drives you insane.

Ken looked down at Omi, who was still hugging him as if his life depended on it. "Hey, Omi? I really can't believe this is street legal."  
Omi glanced up at the dancers and flushed. "It might be illegal if we were in public." He murmured. "Ken-kun, do you think the police would believe a word of this if I—"  
"No." Ken said quickly. "_I_ don't and I'm here. Besides, that would involve getting to a phone…"

Guests:  
Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

Then, as if things weren't weird enough, Nagi made them that one bit weirder by launching into a rather wooden tap routine, his stern expression not changing one little bit as he danced stiffly across the floor to the whoops and catcalls of the crowd. Inevitably it ended with Nagi tripping and getting back to his feet with a look of martyred dignity on his grave face. Ken tried to check his own temperature again.

Guests:  
Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

Manx:  
It's just a jump to the left.

Guests:  
And then a step to the ri-i-i-ight.

Manx:  
With your hands on your hips.

Guests:  
You bring your knees in tight.  
But it's the pelvic thrust  
That really drives you insane.

With the dance reaching a climax, Omi had finally lifted his head from Ken's chest and, tightly clutching the lapels of the taller boy's jacket, was gazing at the chaos, eyes immense and startled. Ken, at a loss, had his arms protectively around Omi's shoulders but his attention had been caught by the entangled figures of Crawford and Schuldich, dancing together with a wild, sensual, almost wanton abandon. He found it hard to believe that anyone could get much more blatantly sexual whilst still keeping all their clothes on. And Ken, God help him, was actually getting rather _interested_.

Guests:  
Let's do the Time Warp again.  
Let's do the Time Warp again.

Then as the music wound down, as if a battery somewhere had gracelessly died, everyone collapsed.


	3. Quirks of Fate

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show** A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila 

**Part Three: Quirks of Fate**

"Say something, Ken-kun."   
"I had absolutely _no_ idea I was this sexually frustrated." 

Ken had finally (at last, it's about bloody time) come to an acceptable conclusion about what was going on here. He was dreaming. Ken had decided that the whole situation was some kind of bizarre erotic fantasy on the part of a frustrated virgin repressed partly by lack of opportunity and partly by his own perception of himself as a nice boy, whatever the hell that meant – namely himself. He wondered how long it would be before he woke up and, more pertinently, if he really wanted to. 

Omi, however, had already decided what he wanted to do. He wanted to get out of here before Schuldich could do another dance. This was all way outside the limits of anything he'd come across or even heard about in his own, admittedly rather limited, sexual forays and fantasies. He could think of only one way Schuldich could top that… _thing_ he had been doing with Crawford and that would have involved getting naked and— 

Okay Omi, that's quite enough. Let's cancel that thought right now. Please. Thank you! 

He grabbed Ken's wrist and led him back across the ballroom floor, now littered with the supine bodies of the dance party, stopping short in the doorway, rather relieved that Schuldich was nowhere to be seen, or at least nowhere near them. Omi was rather peeved to realize that he didn't have Ken's full attention – he had spotted Schuldich, who was lying on the ballroom floor enjoying Quality Time with Crawford, and was watching in appalled fascination. 

"Can we go now?" Omi asked plaintively.   
That got Ken's attention. "But you were the one who wanted to use these…" He hesitated, trying to think of a way to describe their 'hosts', "… these bizarre people's phone."   
"Yes, yes, I've changed my mind!" Omi cried. "Let's spend the night in the car. Let's walk back to town. Let's do anything, as long as it's not stay here!"   
"But we've come this far," Ken pointed out. "They've got to get off the floor soon, it can't be comfortable down there. Maybe then we can ask." 

He didn't particularly like the idea of trying to pry one of the dancers up off the probably sticky floor and ask where the telephone was, still less did he like the idea of doing the same thing to Crawford or Schuldich. As far as Ken was concerned the best thing to do would be to stay as inconspicuous as possible, go along with the lunacy until it reached some kind of natural break, _then_ ask. Or, failing that, get the hell away from here without using the phone at all. But didn't that seem like kind of a waste, after all this? 

Omi folded his arms irritably. Why couldn't they bolt for the door whilst all these weirdoes were otherwise engaged? This was the best chance they'd had of getting out of here relatively unscathed so far and Ken didn't want to take it? "I don't care about the phone any more! I just want to go!"   
"Surely it can't get much worse." Ken said hopefully.   
"Ken-kun! You never, _never_ say that!" Omi shouted frantically. Brilliant, now watch everything go to pieces… even more so! "Think about it for a moment—" 

He broke off, noticing that the guests in the other room were back on their feet and staring at something just behind him. He noticed, too, that Ken was, once again, very definitely not listening to him. He was too busy staring over his shoulder at whatever it was, utterly taken aback. The moment for getting out of here had very definitely passed, if it had ever existed at all. Doubtful, that… Sighing wearily, Omi turned to try and work out what all the fuss was about. 

"Now _that_, Ken-kun," Omi said shakily, "is why you never say things like 'it can't get much worse'."   
Ken nodded once, distractedly. "Got you…" 

**'Total Player'**

Youji Kudou threw open the mesh door of the lift in a way that made the most of his undeniable talent for Drama and Making an Entrance, his long black coat billowing dramatically around him. He was good at posing and why not when it flaunted his clothes and dynamically sexy body to advantage? He directed a wide, flippant smile anywhere and everywhere, but grew curious when he caught sight of the newcomers. 

Youji:   
How'd you do. 

I see I've got some unexpected guests.   
You look kinda… unformed   
But never mind that,   
I'd guess that you've come for the sex. 

"Come for the _what_?" Ken demanded.   
"Just ignore him…" Omi muttered, going scarlet and hiding his head in his hands. It sounded more as if he were talking to himself than to Ken.   
Ignoring their reactions, Youji strode across the room to the throne he had insisted be installed on the stage there, as befitted a man in his position with a hall full of conventioneers to impress. His servants followed, their expressions scrupulously unreadable. 

Youji:   
Don't get strung out   
By my sensual ways   
I know I can look rather sleazy.   
But it's plenty of fun   
To live life on the edge   
God, ain't it great to be easy! 

Youji shrugged his coat off to land on the throne, revealing a navel-baring skintight top, shiny leather pants which hung low on his hips and clung indecently tightly to his well-shaped thighs, and a pair of heavy boots. The crowd responded as one man; Ken and Omi could only watch in amazement as the entire room gave a long, adoring wail which might or might not have been Youji's name.   
"How in the seven hells do those things stay up?" Ken demanded, utterly astounded by Youji's pants.   
"Sock glue?" Omi blushed. He had been wondering exactly the same thing. 

Youji:   
I'm just a total player   
I'm sheer sexual mania. 

What, you're taken aback? Well now, fancy that.   
So you've not got much further than kissing?   
God, it's hard to believe   
That you're both so naïve   
I'll make sure you know what you're missing. 

After delivering that rather damning verdict on Ken and Omi's _vie sexuelle_, Youji forgot all about them as he turned to the rest of his guests, the people he had actually invited and expected to see. He wandered among them shaking hands, receiving flattery and working the crowd with his practiced, polished charm whilst Ken tailed after him like a nervous child, desperate to get his attention. Omi stuck close to him, glancing nervously around himself as he walked. 

Ken:   
Are you out of your _mind_?   
Um… I mean, we'll decline.   
That's really not why we're here! 

Omi:   
Right! 

Ken:   
This is fucking bizarre!   
All this fuss for a car…   
Oh, is there a phone somewhere near? 

Youji, judging correctly that Ken was about mad enough to fetch him one, finally deigned to notice the pair, turning back as if surprised they were still around. Then he leered at them both, tapping Omi under the chin and forcing the boy to meet his eyes; Ken Youji must have judged rather less innocent as he ran his thumb over Ken's lower lip, making him flinch away with a shocked yelp. 

Youji:   
So your car let you down   
On your trip outta town?   
You know that it could've been fated.   
I can see you're upset   
But don't you kids fret   
I'm sure you'll be glad that you waited. 

He stalked back to his throne through a veritable snowstorm of red and black streamers and glittering silver squares, and flung himself dramatically across it, master of all he surveyed. His servants struck attitudes around it, Schuldich draped languidly over the back, Nagi and Crawford kneeling either side. If it had been intended to impress it hadn't worked, but if on the other hand Youji had been trying to point out what a bunch of lunatics he and his staff were he couldn't have wished for anything better. 

Youji:   
I'm just a total player   
I'm sheer sexual mania. 

Why not stay for a while? 

Crawford and Schuldich:   
_While._

Youji:   
I'll show you my style.

Crawford and Schuldich: _Style._

Youji:   
There's so much that you could discover.   
Though I'm kinda perverse   
There's plenty who're worse   
And you'll never want more in a lover. 

I'm just a total player   
I'm sheer sexual mania. 

Youji sprang to his feet again and surged back toward the lift, the crowd of adoring guests parting in his wake like the Red Sea for Moses. The servants stood to watch him go, all three far more calm and collected than the fawning guests who clustered after him. 

Youji:   
I'm just a total player 

Guests:   
Total playe-er… 

Youji:   
I'm sheer sexual mania! 

Guests:   
Mania… 

Youji:   
So why waste any time?   
Let me blow your minds.   
Tonight's going to be quite stupendous.   
I'm making an Aya   
To relight my fire   
So prepare to see something tremendous. 

And the blonde stormed dramatically into the lift, slamming the gates shut and vanishing into the bowels of the building from whence he had come, leaving a semi-hysterical crowd of conventioneers cheering and applauding their hearts out, Nagi looking bored and unreadable as ever, Crawford and Schuldich exchanging glances over the back of the empty throne, an utterly baffled Omi and Ken more convinced than ever that he was dreaming. 

"Let's get you out of these wet clothes." Nagi said dully.   
Omi started. "Um, what?" He guessed Nagi meant him. Well, him and Ken. Nobody else here was wearing wet clothes.   
Right, Ken thought, that's it, I have got to be dreaming. This is some kind of stupid erotic nightmare and it's going on far too long. Why is Omi in it? Wait, I know why Omi's in it. But if it's that kind of sex dream then why haven't I done anything perverse to him yet? And where did all the rest of these weirdoes come from? Why would I dream anything like this?   
Schuldich grinned, clapping his hands together. "Good plan, Nagi." He agreed. 

The rest of the guests crowded round expectantly, aware that something interesting was about to happen. Omi would have debated the 'interesting' idea and he glowered at the guests, hoping to make them back away. Unfortunately it didn't work. Omi hadn't been expecting it to but he still yelped in alarm as Schuldich bore down on him. Why oh why hadn't he thought to come armed? He glanced over at Ken in the hope that he would know what to do, but Ken was having problems of his own. 

Ken was backing away from the advancing figure of Crawford, horribly aware that it didn't look as if the guy would be content to stop at his jacket. Unfortunately, in trying to get away from Crawford he had bumped right into a terrifying blonde woman with her hair in the most bizarre style Ken had ever seen, dressed in a clownish take on a dominatrix outfit, who also happened to be brandishing a rather nasty-looking whip. Compared to her Crawford looked quite pleasant really and if this was an erotic fantasy Ken supposed he couldn't have expected to stay dressed for much longer anyway. He closed his eyes and muttered another choice selection of curses as Crawford set to with a will. 

Behind him, he heard Omi give a small, embarrassed squeak as Schuldich went for his shorts. It went against everything Ken stood for to leave Omi in that position, but… really, what the hell could he do for him? He was in exactly the same position himself. 

Finally Crawford stepped away, leaving Ken in a pair of dark blue boxer shorts and not much else. Next to him Omi – who had at least thought to wear an undershirt – pulled free of Schuldich before the guy could insist he took anything else off, blushed to the roots of his hair and tried to hide behind him. Ken let him, at the same time realizing Omi was wearing more than him, shouldn't it have been the other way around and he hid behind Omi? He also noticed, as the guests drew back and fell silent, that Crawford had left his socks on and that made Ken feel stupid, so he took them off. 

"Why are you taking your socks off?" Schuldich, who had been busy handing Omi's damp clothing to a small, brown-haired girl who was blushing even more furiously than Omi, asked in mild surprise when he realized what Ken was doing. "We don't mind you keeping _them_ on."   
"Because they're bloody _wet_, okay?" Ken snapped, deciding to get angry to conceal his discomfiture. "Why I should have to take a perfectly dry t-shirt off and still wear wet socks is utterly beyond me!" And he balled the offending articles up and threw them irritably at Scary Blonde Dominatrix Lady. 

There was another silence. Ken folded his arms and fumed whilst Omi peered over his shoulder, trying to work out where to put himself and failing. As if this wasn't embarrassing enough he wasn't sure if he was comfortable clinging to a nearly-naked Ken. It was giving Omi some quite extraordinary ideas and things were weird enough as it was without his brain getting in on the act. _And_ everyone was staring at him! 

"Nagi." Schuldich said finally, promptingly.   
"What would you like me to say?" The boy asked dispassionately.   
Schuldich grinned again. "Something suggestive would be nice."   
"Say it yourself." Nagi said evenly, and stalked off toward the lift. 

Omi couldn't quite work out how it had happened, but when the servants set off for the lift, the guests dispersing, he found himself tagging along, or maybe Schuldich was urging him along? He didn't know. What exactly was going on here? How had they got roped into playing along with this… whatever-it-was? Omi didn't like not knowing what was happening to him, so needless to say he was not at all happy with the way things were panning out. It would, of course, be utterly useless asking Ken what he thought was happening because Ken plainly didn't have a clue either. 

Ken looked even more lost than Omi felt. There was something about being the only individuals to show up at a social gathering in their underwear that made him feel slightly awkward both on Omi's behalf and his own. Some people do have these weird little prejudices. 

"What do we do now?" Omi asked plaintively as he was hustled down to the lift.   
Ken shrugged his bare shoulders expressively. "No idea."   
"Oh." Omi said. It had, he supposed, been rather too much to expect Ken to have any cards up his sleeve when he didn't actually have a shirt on.   
"What are you looking at me like that for?" 

Ken wasn't talking to Omi. He was talking to Nagi, who had been waiting round the lift, his silly hat held in front of him, and was giving him an intent look that Ken wasn't sure he liked. Then again he hadn't liked any of this much so far and he doubted he'd like what was coming next. Why were they going along with these people anyway? He wished they'd stayed home. He really wished he had a weapon. Any kind of weapon. A moderately blunt pair of scissors would have done. He was beginning to get seriously pissed off with this. Ken had never had much in the way of patience and this situation, he thought, would have tried the patience of a saint never mind a short-tempered individual like… well, like himself. 

"Hi," Ken said almost aggressively, "my name's Ken, this is my boyfriend Omi—" There was no hesitation this time; these people hardly seemed prudish and he felt the need to make it plain that neither Omi or he himself was in the market, "—now who the hell are you people and what the hell do you want with us?!"   
"You know, it's meant to be a big deal to go to Youji's laboratory… you're very lucky he's decided to let you see it." Nagi said dispassionately, utterly ignoring both Ken's questions and his obvious righteous indignation. "It's where he keeps all his… stuff."   
"His stuff?" Omi echoed disbelievingly, holding one hand out to silence Ken who looked as if he were about to start yelling or attempt to punch someone or both. "What stuff?"   
Nagi nodded. "Yes. All the stuff he doesn't want anyone else to know he's got. Come on, you've got to take the lift."   
"Is anyone listening to me?" Ken shouted. "What the fuck do you people think you're _doing_?"   
Omi rested both hands on Ken's forearm and looked at him imploringly. "Please, Ken-kun, let it go… let's just play along for now, all right? _Please_?"   
Ken looked down at Omi and, with a visible effort, forced himself to calm down somewhat. "Okay, okay, whatever. Christ, Omi, I've had it up to here with this!" He gestured vaguely to somewhere between his shoulders and chin. 

What Crawford and Schuldich thought of Ken's little outburst would have to remain a mystery as the pair were engaged in forcing open the mesh doors on the lift, or rather Crawford was trying to open the doors whilst Schuldich lounged nearby, examining his fingernails with an air of bored tolerance. He looked quite phenomenally uninterested and, as he lounged and picked his nails, he shook a few strands of his unruly hair from his eyes with a single toss of the head. He yawned. 

Screw bored tolerance; Schuldich was just plain bored. He didn't know what was going on either. What the fuck was Youji thinking? He would have to find out. Ho hum. 

Crawford got the lift doors open, finally, and pushed his way in. Omi frowned, looking at the tiny contraption. We're never going to fit in that thing, he thought. There's five people here including me and two of them are big Westerners, that lift's about the same size as a phone box, we are never all going to get in there. 

He watched in amazement as Crawford and Schuldich stepped inside, Schuldich grabbing mutely rebellious Ken's wrist and dragging him after them. A gentle shove from Nagi had Omi stepping quickly in to join them. Inside the lift was stuffy and close and full of arms and legs and Omi had his nose shoved against the breast of Schuldich's jacket and one leg bent uncomfortably then Nagi stepped in too and Ken swore in a stifled way that suggested he was having difficulty breathing and somehow Crawford got the doors closed and this was worse than the subway at rush hour. Omi could barely move a muscle. He wondered where Ken was. He couldn't see anything but Schuldich's suit jacket. It was no bad thing he hadn't ended up squashed next to Ken given what the both of them largely weren't wearing. 

"Is… Youji your lover?" Omi asked suddenly, directing the comment at Nagi's barely visible glittering jacket sleeve.   
"Like it matters, Omi." Ken muttered sardonically from… somewhere. He was still in a foul temper.   
Nagi blinked and Schuldich snorted with laughter, though it was hard to tell whether it was at Omi's naïve comment or Ken's irritable response, but it was Crawford who spoke. "The Master isn't the kind to settle down for long." The man said bluntly. "We are his servants."   
"Oh." Omi said.   
Schuldich grinned. "Aren't you going to ask us what kind of servants?"   
Omi squeaked and went bright red; the crush meant Ken's reaction was unfortunately lost to posterity. 

The lift shuddered to a stop and Crawford forced open the gates. Omi staggered out gratefully, identified Ken somewhere in the crush of bodies and limbs only because Ken was the one who was virtually naked and with a little bit of difficulty dragged him out too, then gazed around himself in giddy disbelief. Was this really a mad scientist's laboratory? 

It wasn't much of a laboratory. Omi judged it decidedly disappointing by classical standards. He didn't understand what the seating arrangement was for. Clearly Youji had decided to carry on with his party up here: there were still plenty of guests around, stood on an upper tier watching the proceedings. To a newcomer, the oddest things about the lab would be the artistically-arranged collection of marble statues scattered about the room, the huge covered object over which a large chandelier-like object covered in weird knobs, spigots and protuberances hung (what was the point of it?), and what looked like a cell door set into one of the walls. Mounted on the walls were a fair number of the computer banks, weird buttons and switches and huge monitor screens which seem to come as standard in mad scientist rig-ups. 

And then there was Youji in designer scrubs, posed heavily in the middle of the room, obviously waiting for someone. Them, judging from the way he grinned as the lift doors opened. Ken wondered if it was too late to grab Omi and bolt back into the lift. Probably. He couldn't go out into a rainstorm dressed like this – that way tabloid infamy and in all likelihood death from indecent exposure lay. 

Behind Omi and Ken, who had been a little unsettled by his trip in the lift and was leaning heavily against the outside of the lift cage, Crawford and Schuldich now disentangled themselves from one another, Schuldich with obvious reluctance, and stepped into the body of the room, Crawford now bearing a glass of champagne he couldn't have had when he got into the lift. He handed it to Youji then crossed over to the large covered box. Nagi finally staggered out of the lift, leaving his battered hat and silly jacket behind and looking rather happier for it. 

"Nagi, Schuldich, go and help Crawford." Youji said suddenly. 

Schuldich didn't exactly need the excuse to go hang round Crawford some more, but he was pleased to have been provided with a perfect opening. He walked over to Crawford and joined him by the huge covered box, followed by Nagi who was picking at a loose thread on his sequined halter. Crawford was putting on an apron when they got there and he wordlessly held out two more to his companions. Nagi put the apron on, did it up and looked like he was wearing an apron, stockings and tap shoes. Schuldich looked rather less bizarre, perhaps thanks to the fact that he was already wearing a shirt and pants. 

"I shall see to… ah… I'm sorry, I never caught your names." Youji leered at his two unwilling guests again, giving them both an immense wink.   
"We didn't tell you them." Ken said shortly.   
Youji laughed. "That would explain why I didn't catch them." He replied teasingly. "So, then… you two are?"   
Ken sighed and, for what felt like the nine thousandth time that evening but which was in actuality only the third, did the honors. "I'm Ken Hidaka, this is my boyfriend Omi Tsukiyono, hi." He said impatiently, setting his hands on his hips. "Now why the hell have you dragged us up here?"   
Youji smiled; once again Ken's startlingly reasonable, if petulantly-phrased, question was doomed to be ignored. "Tell me, have my staff been behaving?"   
"If you consider their forcing us to undress in the middle of a crowded room behaving," Omi said from the safety of Somewhere Behind Ken, "then yes they have!"   
Youji laughed again. "Of course they did. I told them to. I would have been disappointed if they hadn't! I'm glad I could trust them with that. But I like it when people speak their minds. Cheers." He raised his glass to the couple in an ironic toast, taking a sip. "I must say, you two have good taste in underwear." 

Omi blushed, clinging to Ken's arm, whilst Ken gritted his teeth and began, ever so slowly, to count to ten. Maybe after that he'd feel a little less like breaking someone's jaw but frankly he doubted it. It would take rather more than counting to ten to calm Ken down right now. How had wanting some time alone with Omi turned into this… he didn't even know how to describe it! Youji surveyed them both over the rim of his glass for an uncomfortable moment or two until he decided to take pity on them. 

"Here." Youji collected a pair of dust coats from Crawford and thrust them at Ken. "Put these on. You both look rather…" He paused meaningfully, casting a significant and lingering – to say nothing of bluntly lascivious – glance over his guests' half-naked bodies, "… _uncomfortable_." 

Yeah and I wonder why that is, Ken thought sourly, but he bit the comment back. He didn't want this arrogant jerk knowing he'd got to him. Even if he was sexy— um, _what_? Beside him Omi flushed a not unbecoming shade of scarlet, snatching one of the coats from Ken and practically throwing himself into it, nearly ripping one of the sleeves in his haste to get himself covered up. He buttoned the coat up as high as it would go, holding the gaping neck together with one small hand. Ken shrugged the other coat on, slipping his hands into the pockets. Rather to Omi's dismay, he hadn't bothered to fasten it. 

Feeling that events had reached a lull, Youji turned to his home help and gestured to them to check the equipment once more in readiness. In practice this turned out to mean Crawford, as Schuldich stared in total incomprehension at a barely fluctuating data readout for about a minute before declaring that he didn't have the faintest idea if the reading was right or wrong and Nagi had walked over to stand by the covered object, waiting patiently for things to be readied. 

Youji decided to ignore them and turned back to his guests; it was his duty to keep them amused. And to keep vamping on them. He didn't want them growing bored. 

"You know, you two very fortunate." He said conversationally. "We have few visitors here and we seldom show them hospitality."   
That did it: Ken Hidaka was now officially Well And Truly Pissed Off. Hospifuckingtality? What in the name of all that was holy did this man think he was playing at? "You call this hospitality? Jesus _Christ_, what in the hell do you do when you take against someone, shoot them in the head?" He demanded, stepping toward Youji and wondering if it was worth fighting the temptation to break the guy's nose. "I don't want you to be hospitable goddammit! I want to use your phone and leave, not get dragged into some crazy sexed-up B-picture because you're trying to be _welcoming_! What in the hell _good_ is hospitality when it's not getting my bloody car fixed and Omi and me out of here sometime tonight?!"   
Omi grabbed Ken's upper arms before he could try and deck Youji. "Ken-kun, please!" He begged. "Don't be impolite…"   
"Who's being fucking impolite?" Ken shouted. "I want to go home! Is that too much to ask?" 

There was a sudden silence. Youji stood his ground, a small smile playing on his lips. Ken glared up at him, a study in constrained fury; the only thing that kept him from losing it completely and hitting Youji was Omi's desperate attempts to restrain him. All eyes were on Youji, awaiting his reaction. Nagi had actually caught his breath. Schuldich's smile grew as mocking as his eyes, though only he knew who the joke was on. 

And Youji started to laugh. "What a perfect example of an alpha male you are to be sure, Kenken." He said, tapping Ken gently on the cheek and making him blush furiously. "So self-assured, so forceful. You must be proud of him, Omi."   
Ken, deciding for once that discretion was the better part of valor, he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day and so on, turned his back on the man. "Oh, fuck you," he muttered.   
"I'm busy right now, but we could try that later if you liked. Though I suspect you'd lose." Youji gave Ken a wink and a smile, and was unsurprised when Ken responded by looking at him strangely, his expression an admixture of offense, mortification and classic scandalized-virgin astonishment. It didn't take a Schuldich to know Ken was thinking _why the fuck is he saying that to me_? 

Omi bridled, insulted on Ken's behalf. "I am proud of him, actually." He said defensively, wrapping both arms around one of Ken's in the hope that it would make him feel a little less put-upon. "Leave Ken-kun alone. He's right anyway, why can't we use the phone?" Youji smiled at the boy's indignation. Behind him, Crawford and Schuldich exchanged a meaningful glance as a few of the guests began to oh and ah appreciatively. Even the stoic Nagi had raised a wry eyebrow. 

Youji decided to lighten the mood which, logically enough, he did by asking, "Do you have any tattoos, Ken?"   
Ken blinked, turning back to him. "What? I'm dragged in here in my underwear and you ask me if I've got any tattoos? You can already see I don't." Youji opened his mouth again, but Ken got in first. "And to save you asking no I _don't_ have 'Heaven This Way' written on my inner thigh."   
Youji shrugged. "Pity. Never mind, moving swiftly on… Crawford, how are we doing?"   
"Everything is prepared, Master." Crawford replied levelly. "We wait only for your word."   
"Good." Youji replied, draining his champagne and handing the glass to Crawford. "Then shall we begin?" 

Youji finally abandoned his nonplussed and rather embarrassed guests, much to their relief, allowing Omi to give Ken a quick hug – he didn't care what these weirdoes thought of Ken, it was none of their business anyway – which Ken quickly returned. Conscious that this wasn't really the time, though, Omi turned back into the center of the room, watching Youji closely. He was tense, hated to admit it but tense was undoubtedly what he was. He was glad when Ken, now stood right behind him, put his arms around his shoulders and he rested one hand on his lover's forearm. He didn't have to ask to know Ken was wondering, _what happens now_? 

For Youji was ignoring them completely; Omi wasn't sure if he was relieved or alarmed. The man had made his own languid way over to a microphone and was now tapping it with one fingernail as he gave his conventioneers a sensual, smoldering glance from above it. Crawford, after disposing of Youji's glass, had moved over to a control panel whilst, by the covered box, Schuldich and Nagi were tying on surgical masks and snapping on elbow-length rubber gloves. 

"One, one, one… is this on? Ah, yes." Youji tapped the microphone again and smiled at the hollow clunk his fingernail made as it hit the microphone's surface. He straightened and turned back to the convention guests "Welcome to the climactic event of this year's convention!" he began, then had to break off as the attendees went into raptures of applause, whistles and cheers. Squeakers were tooted, noisemakers rattled, flags and banners waved with violent abandon and streamers and glitter showered down over Youji. Omi and Ken traded puzzled glances: Crawford and Schuldich shared one of acquiescence. Youji smiled politely and waited for the applause to die down, which ultimately it did. 

"Thank you," he said; the languorous look in his bedroom eyes very nearly set the convention guests off into another fit of cheering, shrieking, whistling and banner waving. "I would like to welcome you to my laboratory where, if all proceeds according to plan, you will witness a startling breakthrough in the world of biochemical research." 

More cheers, gasps, applause, whistles, noisemakers and some fool letting off an air horn. Nagi put his hands over his ears and Schuldich looked up sharply, scowling behind his mask. Omi stared: he was beginning to suspect he and Ken had ended up in some asylum for the terminally deranged. To him, it was the only explanation which made sense. Ken merely blinked. He was very confused. 

"And," Youji said, with a single sharp gesture effectively cutting the shrieking off – none of the guests wished to miss a word – as a sudden silence filled the room, "paradise is to be mine."   
"Say what?" Ken asked in the pause that followed, then colored and laughed anxiously when he realized everyone was staring at him. Youji arched one eyebrow at him then turned back to his guests. If he could cope with his enthusiastic convention guests he could surely cope with Ken's utter incomprehension. Omi squeezed Ken's arm and gazed anxiously up at him. 

Just as things were about to get really awkward the audience started to applaud again. 

"Thank you." Youji said. "I appreciate your enthusiasm! But… really I don't deserve all the credit for my amazing discovery. Not so long ago I felt sure I was doomed to fail. I was struggling, I couldn't see where I was going wrong… but I was! I was mystified!" He gave the room an appealing look; the guests reacted with looks of disbelief and murmurs of surprise. "Mystified." He repeated, shaking his head and slumping sadly. "And seriously contemplating giving up, only… one day when it all seemed hopeless… I got a break. Luck! Just dumb luck! And everything just…" Youji snapped his fingers in the sudden silence, "… _fell_ into place. Just like that, I knew where I was going wrong. What a fool I was not to see it before! And all it took was an act of providence."   
"Providence." Nagi and Schuldich echoed in unison, voices harsh and discordant.   
"That's how it happened. That's how I discovered how to capture it, to recreate that spark… the very spark of life itself." 

Youji finally looked directly at his guests, looking horribly self-satisfied. He received in return gasps, cheers, yet more whistles and enthusiastic shrieks and a veritable monsoon of confetti. 

Youji gave the conventioneers a wave then crossed the room to the still covered box, snapping on his rubber gloves. He nodded to Crawford, waiting by the control panels ready for action, before he turned back to his two rather less enthusiastic and willing guests. Ken looked utterly lost; Omi hardly seemed any less bewildered. Youji was a little let down to note they even seemed slightly alarmed; as he watched, they were exchanging another apprehensive glance. 

"You see, Ken… Omi…" Youji felt that it was time to address the pair directly; Omi fidgeted anxiously and grabbed Ken's wrists, whilst Ken pulled him closer and held him more securely. "You are most fortunate that you chose to arrive tonight of all nights." Youji's tone was level, only his gaze was somewhat faraway, his eyes somewhat misty as he thought of the paradise that was, hopefully, soon to become his. "For tonight is the night my beautiful creature is destined to be born!" 

As the blonde watched excitedly, Schuldich and Nagi grabbed the ends of the trailing red cloth covering the draped box, uncovering it with one swift, practiced motion and revealing that the thing beneath it wasn't a box at all, but a large tank. There was something suspended inside it, in clear fluid. The guests began to murmur expectantly. This hadn't cleared matters up at all for Ken, though; he frowned and looked, if it were possible, even more mystified than before. Omi, rather more gratifyingly, gasped. 

Youji smirked at them over the tank. Ken flushed, his lips parting slightly as if he were about to say something very important but had forgotten quite what, and wondered why. It wasn't like Youji appealed to him in any way. Ken really didn't find him attractive at all. Not a bit of it. Nope, he wasn't the least bit interested in him. Youji could aim as many suggestive looks and lewd remarks at him as he liked and it wouldn't make the blindest bit of difference because Ken did not find him even remotely sexy. He was _absolutely without allure_. Right. Sure. Okay. Now stop staring at him, Hidaka. 

"Crawford!" Youji yelled excitedly. "Throw open the switches on the sonic oscillator!" 

Crawford, stood tall and dignified by one of the mysterious panels of instruments and surveying both the laboratory and his so-called Master's caperings with a look of sinister disdain, threw open the switches on the wall panel which opened the oscilloscopes. Something started whining insistently in the background and for a change it wasn't Schuldich humming ironically because he was feeling so bored. Though the shaggy-haired German did look somewhat bored; he was lounging against the side of the tank and half-hiding an immense yawn, like the yawn of a sleepy jungle cat, behind one deceptively delicate hand. 

"And step up the reactor power input three more points." Youji added, glancing casually at Crawford over his shoulder. 

Crawford lazily cast his eyes along the panels again, finally finding a button which allowed him to do just that, which he pressed the required three times. The laboratory lights dimmed and began to flash on and off, the insistent low hum started building to a crescendo. Crawford walked over to a stiff crank handle which, with a little assistance from Schuldich and a few colorful German curse-words, also courtesy of Schuldich – German being a very good language to curse in – he finally got to start moving. 

Youji watched excitedly as the strange apparatus above the tank, which up until this point hadn't done a lot or even made any sense, drew level with his head. Equally excitedly, he began twisting its various spigots open, smiling with demented glee as they sprayed various brightly-colored liquids into the tank which lit up, bubbled and smoked in a highly dramatic way. For all that he was afraid and could tell from the way he had tensed that Ken was as well, Omi approved of that; finally this place was beginning to look like a proper science lab. 

The thing in the tank began to take on form. It was, in fact, beginning to look almost alarmingly human. The convention guests stared at it in amazement, too shocked even to applaud; Nagi raised a questioning brow. Even Schuldich looked a little less blasé. 

"Ken-kun…" Omi said nervously, tightening his grasp on Ken's wrists.   
"What's he doing?" Ken muttered. "What the _hell_ does he think he's doing?" 

Again, it was a good question – and again, like most of Ken's good questions, it was doomed never to be answered. As they, as everyone watched the liquids in the tank began to drain away, revealing the very humanoid something which lay therein. Lying flat on its back, it looked like nothing so much as a stuffed doll. Humanoid it may have been but alive was another matter. 

So it was that Omi, who had almost convinced himself that the thing in the tank was nothing more than a life-size featureless mannequin full of, oh, he didn't know, socks or something, actually shrieked out loud when the thing, covered in so many bandages it looked like an extra from 'The Mummy's Tomb' or some other cheesy horror flick, began to move. 

(Ken cried out almost in unison, but that was because Omi had squeezed his wrists so hard he thought they were about to break and it had, not to put too fine a point on it, hurt like _hell_.) 

Youji eagerly scrambled up the ladder on one side of the tank, losing all his cool in his desperate haste to get acquainted with his beautiful creation. Crawford made his way rather more circumspectly up the other one, and both men peered into the bottom of the tank where the heavily-bandaged figure was glancing blindly around, unable to see a thing. Youji, leaning so far forward that Omi thought he was about to topple into the now empty tank, eagerly grabbed at the bandage covering the shambling figure's head and yanked it off, like an impatient child unwrapping a long-awaited birthday present. Said action did very nearly overbalance him, but he righted himself, clinging to the edge of the tank and gazing in utter rapture – and, again, not inconsiderable lustiness – down into the eyes of his creation. 

For a moment the three simply looked at one another. Youji stared at his creation in lust-struck wonder, Crawford cast his disdainful gaze over the entire tableau, and the creation glanced up at Youji in shock for a moment or two before glaring at him as if he wished for nothing so much as Youji's imminent and bloody death. Youji didn't seem to care. His mind was already running to the hundred and one, no thousand and one naughty things he wanted to do with this… this specimen of sheer sexual perfection stood in the bottom of the tank. 

Crawford shook his head once, disdainfully, and climbed from the ladder over to the crank where he began to winch up the apparatus again. Since Youji appeared to have been struck dumb, not to mention stupid, by the beauty of his creation he supposed he would have to move things along himself. This would have been a good move had the figure in the tank not grabbed onto the ascending apparatus and started rising up with it. Crawford didn't appear to notice but Youji did, and he shook himself out of his trance, fuming, as the figure of his creation was winched slowly ceilingward and out of his reach. 

This, needless to say, would never do. Oh, he would have to take Steps… 

**'The Katana Of Fujimiya'**

Aya:   
I've got my sights on a target   
Who's just gotta be killed. 

Scrambling down from the tank Youji hurried over to the wall and Crawford, giving his erring handyman a quick clip round the ear which had Crawford straightening and giving him an evil look. Ignoring said evil look, Youji stalked back over to the tank. The apparatus – and the figure – began to descend again. Schuldich and Nagi headed over to join them, both now brandishing large kitchen scissors. 

Aya:   
For the crimes he's committed   
I'm determined   
That his blood will be spilled. 

Oh, he'll rue the day   
That he took her smile away. 

Oh, he's gotta pay   
'Cause I'll hunt him down   
And deliver my vengeance… 

Youji made a lunge for his dangling creation as he drew level with him, but he saw Youji coming and sprung nimbly out of the way, landing between Nagi and Schuldich, who had removed their masks in the interim. They both took a startled step back before simultaneously lunging at the redhead and starting to cut the bandages from his arms and legs. 

Aya:   
This is my goal and   
It takes up   
The whole of my time. 

Servants and Guests:   
Who did the deed? 

Aya:   
For I'm chasing the guy   
Who's to die   
For committing the crime. 

Servants and Guests:   
Who did the deed? 

Aya:   
His life must end.   
He killed all my family   
So he's earned my revenge. 

You can depend   
That I'll hunt him down   
And deliver my vengeance… 

Youji had managed to regain his footing and, from the tank, tried to wrap his arms around his creation's neck. With a startled expression on his face and an involuntary yelp, his creation hurled himself away from the blonde and spun off across the room. Nagi grabbed at the end of the bandage around his chest, grasping it tightly, but was nearly pulled off his feet by the young man's headlong plunge. Schuldich reached out and grabbed him tightly round the waist with one arm, steadying him as the bandage unrolled. 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed. 

Aya:   
God, he's got to die! 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed. 

Aya:   
God, he's got to die! 

Omi – discretion being ever the better part – covered his eyes with his hands, but peeped through his fingers as Youji's Big Event degenerated into scenes of ludicrously ordered chaos. Ken, far less prudent, stared openly, eyes wide and confused. As the bandage around the youth's chest unraveled, Youji got to his feet again and scrambled out of the tank onto Crawford's shoulders. They had got no more than a couple of steps, however, before master and servant found out the flaw in that plan the hard way when Crawford, uncharacteristically, slipped and they both collapsed to the floor in an undignified tangle of arms and legs, Crawford coming off worse by far – Youji had somehow landed right on top of him. 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed   
Who did the deed. 

In her study, Manx surveyed the scene with the kind of calm that one can only achieve from witnessing something at one remove. She looked dispassionately disapproving, like a schoolmarm stood in front of a class of riotous seven-year-olds. 

Manx:   
Aya's different and it makes me fatigued.   
I don't understand   
Why he's got this strange need. 

We all have our problems   
Which we have to relieve   
Without grabbing a sword   
And making someone else bleed! 

Back in the laboratory, chaos reigned absolute. Free of the bandages, the creation struck an unknowingly sultry pose then headed up the ramp to address the conventioneers. By the tank, Schuldich hurried to the downed Crawford and enthusiastically checked him for injuries. A wicked grin crossed his face as it occurred to him that, as Crawford was still in a daze, he'd have to try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation! Youji ignored these… goings-on; he was too busy dusting himself off, a look of grim determination on his face. He would catch that creation of his! 

Servants and Guests:   
Who did the deed? 

Aya:   
I've got my sights on a target   
Who's just gotta be killed. 

Servants and Guests:   
Who did the deed? 

Aya:   
For the crimes he's committed I  
'm determined   
That his blood will be spilt. 

Servants and Guests:   
Who did the deed? 

Crawford, somewhat revived by Schuldich's 'ministrations', let the German help him back to his feet and they hurried to join Nagi, who was stood by the now empty tank watching the proceedings with an air of philosophical tolerance. 

Aya:   
Oh, he'll rue the day   
That he took her life away. 

Oh, he's gotta pay   
'Cause I'll hunt him down   
And deliver my vengeance… 

Youji set off across the room after his delinquent creation, stalking up the ramp to the observation galleries like a tiger stalking its prey only to find his way blocked by the crowds of guests. The redhead cursed quickly and broke into a run. The servants, now back in some semblance of order, had formed an impromptu chorus line. They had decided – quite wisely – to play this one by ear. 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed. 

Aya:   
God, he's got to die! 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed. 

Aya:   
God, he's got to die! 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed   
Who did the deed. 

"Jesus Christ. Omi, what in the hell is all this in aid of?"   
"I don't know either, Ken-kun…" 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed. 

Aya:   
God, he's got to die! 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed. 

Aya:   
God, he's got to die! 

Servants and Guests:   
It's Takatori   
Who did the deed   
Who did the deed. 

Author's note: I know that, as Aya is supposed to be Youji's creation, the above song makes no sense. But I figured that, creation or no, he was still Aya. 


	4. One From the Vaults

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show**  
A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila

**Part Four: One From the Vaults…**

He was pale and redheaded, with long, piercing violet eyes set in a heartbreakingly beautiful face. He was tall, too, and slender, but – no waif, he – athletically built, his muscles nicely defined. And he wore high black leather boots, wrist-length gloves, also in black, a single long gold earring and a pair of the very briefest black briefs. And absolutely nothing else.

The briefs, admittedly, had been going to be gold, but Youji had thought that seeing as the creation was so pale the black might make a nice contrast next to all that porcelain skin. The playboy had, of course, been utterly right. Oh, Youji thought the young man looked good enough to _devour_, and in this the playboy was, of course, utterly right as well. This man was sex on legs, and the legs were pretty damn good as well. This was why, although he was currently lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the tank, staring at the spectacle of masculine perfection perched on the edge of the tank from a position of power on the floor, he didn't feel too upset with how the evening was turning out.

Youji could tell that everyone in the room was staring at this hunk of loveliness whom he (he!) had created all for his very own and fantasizing about doing all the naughty things that he (he!) was going to do with him the minute he got him by himself, and God wasn't Youji absolutely thrilled!

Everyone, that was, with the possible exception of Ken. Ken had spotted Omi staring at Youji's creation in open-mouthed amazement and so he was too busy feeling angry, resentful and far too short to pay much attention of the redhead's superlative loveliness, except of course as a cause of an attack of the Green-Eyed Monsters (How come this guy got to be tall, pale, mysterious and coldly gorgeous with it whilst he'd ended up the typical, even prototypical boy next door? It wasn't fair!). Which is how complexes start.

Standing, Youji gazed lovingly up at the figure on the tank and gave him a winning, come-hither smile. The creation didn't go thither but Youji wasn't the least bit phased.

"Vengeance later." Youji said with a significant smile, which the creation utterly failed to understand the significance of. "We have more important things to accomplish first."  
The creation looked bewildered. Was there anything more important than his revenge? What was this bizarre man talking about? What was going on here anyway? He covered his confusion the best way he knew how – by forcing a Leveling Glare of Icy Death onto his face and trying to glower himself into unsympathetic isolation. Youji ignored the Death Glare too.

"Isn't he perfect?" Youji said to the room at large. "I just love success." He laughed pointlessly. "I'd say I'd done well, wouldn't you? Aya, how about I give you the… the ultimate test?"

("Aya?" Schuldich muttered.  
("That must be his name." Nagi replied softly.)

Stood at the bottom of the ladder, he reached out one hand to his creation. There was an extremely pregnant pause as the creation regarded said hand as if he had been offered a small dead fish, but after a beat he reluctantly took it and allowed Youji to lead him down the ladder and back to the floor, where he commenced gazing around himself with a certain kind of stumped curiosity. Youji, still smiling, led him over to his servants, who had formed a receiving line.

"But first I'd like you to meet the staff." Youji said graciously, one hand on the creation's shoulder. "This is Crawford. Butler, handyman and resident precognitive." Youji gave Crawford an objectionable smile then stepped back to let he and Aya gaze sternly at one another. "Well, say hello, Crawford."  
"Hello, Aya." Crawford said in scrupulously bored tones.  
"Hello, Crawford." Aya replied equally frostily.  
Youji laughed. "You sound like you've really hit it off… now Aya? This is Schuldich. He's the maid, I think. He's also a telepath, so don't be surprised if he tries to mess with your mind. Just ignore him if he does, it's the best way."  
Schuldich grinned maliciously. "Hi, Aya."  
Aya fixed him with a gimlet glower, hoping to phase him. It didn't seem to work. "Hello, Schuldich."  
"And finally," Youji said, "Last but not least… Nagi. Telekinetic. Other than that, I'm not really sure what he does here unless it's make up the numbers."  
Nagi looked as if he wanted to say something, but bit it back. "Good evening, Aya." He said stiffly.  
"Hello, Nagi." Aya said.  
Youji smiled. "Okay, now that the introductions are over… Crawford. What do you think?"

He dragged the quietly uncooperative Aya back over to Crawford again, a death grip on his upper arm as if to deter anyone else in the room from getting any ideas. It was perhaps no bad idea, considering at least one of the guests – most notably the little brunette who had taken Omi's damp clothes – looked as if they were about ready to explode with excitement at the sight of Aya's near-naked beauty.

Crawford gave Aya an assessing look. He was rather surprised to realize that he was actually impressed. "He is a credit to your genius, master." He said, a note of genuine approval in his voice.  
"Why, _thank_ you." Youji said cheerfully.  
"A triumph of your will." Schuldich added, deciding to toe the party line for once.  
"Of course." Youji replied. "What else would he be?"  
Nagi shrugged. "He's okay."

Youji looked peeved at such equivocation. He gave Nagi a deeply dissatisfied frown which rolled off the boy like water off the obligatory duck's back, and huffily began to cast around the place for somebody else to ask, his gaze alighting on his two unexpected guests. He'd utterly forgotten about them both in the excitement of the moment. Now stood side-by-side, Omi once again clutching the top of his dust coat to try and hold it together, they watched the… goings-on in quiet bemusement, or at least Omi had been. Ken looked as if there was something on his mind.

"Ken-kun?" Omi murmured. "You've gone very quiet. What's the matter?"  
Ken looked at him dubiously, then decided to face up to it. "Do you think I'm too short?"  
"No." Omi said honestly. "Really, Ken-kun, what brought this on?"

Ken didn't reply and so Omi remained blissfully oblivious of the fact that the reason was stood in front of them in tiny black underpants and that Ken would have been a lot happier had he stopped staring at him. Worse, said reason was due to be shoved under their noses by the glory-hunting Youji any minute; the lanky blonde was dead set on asking them what they thought of his beautiful creation.

"You two." Youji said with a smile. "What do you make of Aya?"  
"He annoys me." Ken said immediately; he had obviously decided to go with the first thought which sprung to mind, no matter how stupid it made him sound. "Why go to all this trouble anyway? Wouldn't it be easier to go to a bar and pick someone up or fill out a personals ad or something?"  
Youji raised his eyebrows and laughed softly. "He annoys you. Does he, indeed. What's the matter with Aya, Kenken? Does he make you feel vulnerable?" Ken went red and said nothing. Youji took the chance to give him another suggestive look before turning to Omi. "And you?"

Omi fidgeted. How was he supposed to answer that question? Maybe he would have felt better about it had Ken not been there, or if he'd known that Ken had been in the same heavy denial over Youji's allure as he was now in over Youji's creation. Quickly sneaking a guilty glance at Ken (he loved Ken. He really did. But Ken was… well, Ken, and there was something about the look in Aya's eyes and the redhead's sculpted, nearly naked body which Omi… responded to, God knew what it was or why it happened but he responded. Aya called to something within him and made him think things, like Ken in his underwear did. Maybe, Omi thought, I have a secret _penchant_ for young men in their underwear?), he tried desperately to find something to say which wouldn't compromise him in front of his lover.

"Um…" Omi stuttered, "I, um… don't go for redheads!"  
"That's okay." Youji replied with a worrying smirk. "I didn't make him for you."  
"Oh! I never said you did!" Omi said quickly, blushing and grabbing one of Ken's hands in both of his own in a desperate attempt to prove that he had no designs on Aya and was quite happy with Ken thank you very much. Did it convince Omi? It certainly didn't seem to convince Ken.

Youji, hands on his hips, smiled. The crowd were going absolutely wild, some of them wilder than others – the little brunette had thrown herself against the railing of the upper tier, her eyes never once leaving Aya – the servants approved (well, largely, but two out of three wasn't bad with those guys), Omi wanted Aya badly and Ken was clearly ravingly jealous both of Aya's astonishing beauty and the fact that Omi was looking at him so longingly, all of which combined to make him feel massively insecure. Yes, all in all it was a very satisfying response.

**'I Can Make You a Ran'**

Youji:  
Aya's beauty is  
A sight for sore eyes  
But to learn there's much more  
Should come as no surprise.  
For if he has his way  
Takatori will pay  
And he acts just because  
It will further his cause.

As the guests watched, Crawford picked up a large katana wrapped in shiny cellophane which he handed to Youji, only for the blonde to hand it to Aya with a flourish. Aya took it enthusiastically, immediately tugging it free of the cellophane. The minute his hand grasped the hilt he flowed into a classic sword form, gaze grimly set. Omi squeaked in surprise.

Youji:  
But he's a – thank you –  
Sublime mystery  
I'll even admit  
He's a closed book to me.

There's a lot  
Which we can't see.

He's enigmatic—  
Oh honey

Youji, Servants and Guests:  
But charismatic!

Youji began to circle Aya, who moved gracefully from one form to the next. He made posing with the sword look easy. In spite of his extreme undress, the redhead looked positively lethal. That didn't seem to bother Youji, who was surveying him with a lustful gleam in his bedroom eyes. Crawford and Schuldich exchanged another glance. Even Ken had absolutely no trouble working out what was going through the blonde's mind now.

Youji:  
Don't ask him a question  
I doubt he'll reply.  
He'll only ever get angry  
God knows he won't cry.

Christ, he's stubborn!  
Why, I can't understand  
But in just seven days,

Youji, Servants and Guests:  
I can make you a Ra-a-a-an.

Youji was now hovering a lot closer to Aya than could be considered at all safe given that he was brandishing a three-foot-long katana with a wickedly sharp blade. Omi drew closer to Ken again, nervous. What happened if Aya's hand slipped? Well, maybe then they could get out of here. Okay, what happened if Aya's hand _didn't_ slip? That was the more worrying prospect by far.

Youji:  
He may try to kill you  
If you catch him off-guard.  
He's not good with people  
He's brutal and hard.

But he's gorgeous  
So I don't give a damn,  
'Cause in just seven days,  
Oh baby…

I can make you a Ra-a-a-an!

Youji laughed a pointless laugh. There was another small, embarrassed pause in which Ken and Omi traded their five hundredth nonplussed glance of the evening, discovering in doing so they were both similarly bewildered, confused and essentially disbelieving; the servants looked relieved that the paean of praise had stopped. The silence didn't have the chance to stretch out of control though as it was broken by a small creaking noise, which had Schuldich looking sharply round himself to try and work out where it was coming from, then at the others to see if anyone else had heard it. They had.

"What was that?" Ken asked, but got no reply except for another, slightly louder, squeaky creaky noise, and then another.  
Youji looked round in irritation. "Crawford, whatever that is, make it shut up."  
Crawford frowned, then cleared his throat. "Ah… Master, I don't know if that's going to be possible. It sounds like something's falling."

At Crawford's comment Schuldich, who had been lounging on the inexplicable cell doorway, stiffened, and practically threw himself away from the door and into Crawford's arms, nearly knocking the tall American to the floor.

This action remained utterly inexplicable, not to mention terrible for Schuldich's cool and collected image, until the heavy, iron-bound cell door fell open like a drawbridge bare moments later, landing on the spot Schuldich had only recently been stood with a heavy, definite thump. Totally unconcerned by how close his companion had come to discovering the truth about the existence or otherwise of the afterlife, Nagi walked up and peered expectantly into the now open cell. Ken and Omi followed his gaze, at first unable to see anything at all. That didn't last. When they saw what, or rather who the cell had contained, both Ken and Omi wished quite fervently that it had.

It wouldn't have been right to describe the scarred, pale, bandaged man which stumbled from the cell as wild-eyed, nor would it have been right to say he blinked in the unexpected light. He only had the one eye, and that eye was blank and utterly devoid of reason. His single mad eye was yellow, his hair pure white and his skin only a shade or two darker. He was either very unlucky or an albino – it wasn't easy to say which. Even without the scars that criss-crossed his pale skin and the bloody lobotomy mark scored across his forehead he would have been an absolutely terrifying spectacle, just the kind of thing you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alleyway on a moonless night. Or, indeed, anywhere.

Omi took one look at the thing and screamed, clinging to Ken.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Ken shouted, clutching Omi tightly to him and staring at the scarred figure in utter horror.  
Before anyone could reply, Nagi answered for them all. "Farfarello!" He shrieked, looking enthused about something for the first time that evening, and practically hurled himself at the white-haired horror, clinging happily to his neck and smiling.

At which sight Ken Hidaka knew for a fact that he had gone utterly, irretrievably mad.

On the other side of the cell door Youji and his servants stood, looking equally wrong-footed by the stranger's sudden appearance. Aya looked coldly determined, but this didn't mean anything because he was always coldly determined. Schuldich was looking uncertainly at Crawford as if for some kind of clue to what to do next; a barely any more confident Crawford was doing exactly the same to Youji, who was looking daggers at Farfarello.

Crawford finally looked away from the astounded Youji and sighed. Oh no. Farfarello had gotten loose again. Well he wasn't going to catch him this time, it was Schuldich's go. "Farfarello. The delivery boy. Well, he was the delivery boy." "His delivery wasn't good enough." Schuldich said with a Cheshire Cat smirk, having recovered lot of his cool in the space of about three seconds.  
Nagi blinked, looking up from Farfarello's collar. "Is that some kind of _double entendre_, Schuldich?"  
"Probably, but don't ask me what it meant." Schuldich replied.

**'What Ever Happened To Inflicting Pain'**

Farfarello:  
Whatever happened to inflicting pain  
When I drove my spike  
Into someone's brain  
It was always fun to be criminally insane  
Committing a murder just to hurt the divine.

I'd go out on the prowl when I felt the need  
I'd try and find a victim and usually succeed.  
Or other nights I'd sit home and make myself bleed.  
I'd be makin' God hurt  
And I really had a good time.

Nagi tugged on Farfarello's hands over and over until he gave up and let the boy lead him into a rather clumsy dance. That was all the invitation the audience needed to get up and take advantage of a number which was, after all, great to dance to. As if it wasn't galling enough for Youji already, Schuldich had also decided to join in for some reason even he wasn't completely clear on and had literally dragged a rather startled Crawford into it as well.  
"Schuldich, what are you—"  
"Relax will ya, Crawford? I know what I'm doing!"

All:  
Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Youji, meanwhile, was watching the guests, his expression unusually severe. He, was, in fact, beginning to look more than a little pissed. He folded his arms and stood possessively behind Aya, his arms round his neck. Aya, judging from the rather disgusted expression on his face, didn't have the faintest idea what was going on. Youji did, and he didn't like it! The fact that his convention guests were dancing in the aisles didn't help matters either.

Farfarello:  
I'd wake up at night  
When it was dark and still  
And then I'd creep outside  
Finding victims to kill.  
Slaying the religious  
Was the ultimate thrill  
Cause I knew God would weep  
When He discovered my crimes.

I broke the First Commandment  
And I broke it well  
And I put God in His Heaven  
Through His personal Hell.  
Then I'd doze through the day  
Safe in my padded cell  
Then I'd wake and start again  
And I really had a good time.

Aya frowned. He didn't understand what was going on but he knew what he made of it. He thought it was loud and stupid and it didn't impress him in the slightest. Why Youji was hanging all over him he didn't know, though if he had asked the blonde would have told him it was to save him from the corrupting influence of Farfarello. He had considered locking Aya in the lift cage to further save him but that, he had thought, would be rather too undignified for his noble creation, so he had decided not to.

All:  
Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Whilst Farfarello divided his time between molesting (try as he might, Ken just couldn't think of another word for it) the thrilled Nagi and boogieing relentlessly at the conventioneers, Ken and Omi, Aya and anyone else he may have inadvertently forgotten about, Youji ducked into the cell where Schuldich was dancing with Crawford. Humming innocently, he picked up an ice pick completely unnoticed by any of his guests or the staff who, much to Youji's disgust, were still caught up in the dance. Omi spotted it, however, and tugged on Ken's sleeve. Ken, sadly, was too caught up staring in complete bewilderment at the disconcerting spectacle of Farfarello and Nagi doing a bizarre, horribly sexual version of the Twist.

All:  
Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

"What's he doing?" Omi whispered.  
"Who?" Ken asked. Nagi dancing with a lobotomized Farfarello was something he was sure he'd see in all his nightmares. "Farfarello 'him'?"  
Omi pulled on the sleeve of his lab coat again, gesturing toward Youji who now held the ice pick loosely in one hand. "No, Youji 'him'."  
Ken looked disconcerted. "What's he doing? Is he doing something weird?"  
Omi nodded. "Ken-kun, I'm… getting kind of worried again." He said, clinging to Ken's arm so tightly he was almost cutting off the circulation. "I want to get out of here."  
He wasn't the only one. "Um… well, _surely_ they'll let us leave soon?" Ken said, somehow managing to sound hopelessly hopeful.

All:  
Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God.

Gotta tell ya,  
I know it's odd  
I'm really missin' hurtin' God!

Finally Youji could take it no more. With a near-frenzied shriek he ran towards Farfarello, brandishing the ice pick, and buried it into his back.

Farfarello pulled away from Nagi, an irritated expression on his face, as Youji stabbed at him with the ice pick again and again. As if it didn't matter in the slightest that Youji was furiously ice picking him, he walked calmly back toward his cell. Farfarello managed to make it back inside the cell – Crawford and Schuldich hurried out with guilty expressions on their faces, as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn't – before he slumped to the floor insensible. This didn't stop Youji, who'd got a rhythm going and was damned if he was going to stop now. He carried on hacking at Farfarello with the ice pick until the neck snapped.

The audience could only stare. That wasn't a side to Youji you saw very often, and they were unsure if they should be thrilled at getting this rare peep into a different, less public side of Youji, or if they should be horrified by his sudden descent into utter raving insanity. Down on the floor, they were rather more sure of their reactions.

Ken stared at Youji over Omi's shoulder in incredulity mixed with not a little bit of fear. Omi screamed again, briefly, before slapping one hand over his mouth. Ken was holding him so tightly it was painful but Omi barely noticed. Nagi screamed and kept going. Schuldich, looking a little panicky, ran over to the boy and slapped him around the face, hard, stunning him into affronted silence. But it was either that or have the entire castle implode because Nagi was feeling moody and Schuldich knew which he preferred.

Eventually, Youji staggered back out of the cell, a little dizzy. His scrubs were smeared with blood, as were the long rubber gloves he was still wearing. "And that takes care of that little irritation."

As he stood, reeling slightly, in the doorway, the bloodied ice pick dropped from his hands and he smiled guiltily, like a child who knew that he had been naughty but was hoping everyone would find him too adorable to chastise. It worked with the guests and might have on Crawford and Schuldich – although, of course, it may well have been that neither of them cared that much. It didn't work on Ken and Omi, both of whom had been appalled by the turn of events, even though they were assassins and Farfarello had been a sick, scary bastard. It _certainly_ didn't work on Nagi who was staring at Youji in complete disgust.

Ken found his voice. "Jesus Christ, Youji. What was _that_ in aid of?"

Youji ignored the question, holding out his rubber-gloved hands imperiously. Ken, either getting used to being ignored by all and sundry or worried about getting ice-picked to death himself, chose only to raise his eyes heavenwards and sigh in irritation at being disregarded yet again.

After a beat Schuldich realized there was something expected of him and hurried over to the man to tug them off, though he maintained his scrupulously bored expression throughout. He dropped the gloves into a fire bucket, then dropped it to the floor and, with Crawford's assistance, helped Youji change out of the blood-spattered scrubs, leaving him pristine and trim in his expensive, navel-baring shirt and leather pants, and Crawford and Schuldich carrying bundles of bloodstained clothing, the white aprons they had on over their own clothes becoming smeared with it. That was just how the master-servant dynamic worked. Schuldich thought it sucked.

"Why did you do that?" Aya asked after a beat.  
"Don't take on so, Aya." Youji said evenly. "It was a mercy-killing. You saw the state the man was in. Do you really think anyone would want to live like that?"  
"Huh!" Nagi snorted, turning his back to Youji and blanking him completely.  
Ken seethed. "How come when I ask that you ignore me but when Aya asks the _exact same damn question_ he gets an answer!" Youji ignored that as well and Ken fantasized, briefly, about beating the guy senseless (even if he was attractive, in the way that complete bastards often are). Damnation it was because he wasn't tall and imposing enough wasn't it? He was getting very annoyed.  
"Besides," Youji purred, looking sensuously at Aya, "I couldn't bring myself to destroy _you_. You're a… rather different proposition."

**'I Can Make You a Ran: Reprise'**

Youji set off toward Aya, a look of determined lust on his face. Aya, stoic, baffled, stood there and let him come. He clearly didn't have a clue about Youji's intentions. If he had done, he might well have grabbed the katana again and threatened to cut Youji into delicious sashimi strips.

Youji:  
But a Death Glare  
And such fair skin  
A tight ass  
And that earring  
Causes me such  
Lust.  
You know  
It's just  
As much  
As I can stand!

Now Youji was practically next to Aya, running one hand languorously down Aya's cheek. Aya started, his eyes suddenly bewildered. Ken very nearly shouted out a warning to the redhead, but he remembered the ice pick job he'd just witnessed and bit it back. Poor guy, though. Shit, Ken felt sorry for him. What a thing to be… well, created for!

Youji:  
In just seven days,  
Oh, baby

Youji, Servants and Guests:  
I can make you a Ra-a-a-a-n.

Youji:  
How could I not desire  
The beautiful Aya?

Again, he wasn't the only one. Omi, utterly overcome, launched himself at the baffled Aya and clung to his neck with a joyful cry.

Omi:  
God, I need a man!

"Omi!" Ken shouted, affronted.  
It wasn't just Ken – in fact, this brazen gesture on Omi's part had provoked gestures of injured male vanity on two fronts at once. Youji got in on the act too, giving him a disgusted glower Aya would have been proud of, thrusting him away from the bewildered redhead. "Mine. Back off."  
Omi blushed furiously, suddenly realizing where he was and what he was doing. "Sorry, Ken-kun!"

Youji, Servants and Guests:  
In just seven days,  
I can make you a Ra-a-a-a-n.

Youji reached out and patted Aya on his firm, brief-clad rump, his glances now not so much 'come-hither' as just plain 'come' and full of lascivious intent. Aya very nearly went for the katana, but his ignorance of Youji's intentions had him holding back, even as Youji slung one arm around his shoulder and leered at him. Yes, he _leered_. Ken quite literally had to bite his tongue this time.

Youji:  
It's time the fun began!

Youji, Servants and Guests:  
In just seven days,  
I can make you a Ra-a-a-a-n.

As the music turned into a saxophone version of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, Crawford pushed a button, which opened a pair of curtains and revealed a honeymoon suite decked out in black silks. The guests, rushing down onto the floor, showered Youji with confetti as he led Aya toward it, though the little brunette who had been so taken with Aya earlier looked too disappointed by his disappearance with Youji for her shouted congratulations to convince anyone.

As Youji and Aya vanished into the suite and the curtains closed behind them, Ken and Omi – along with Youji's servants and his guests – were treated to a brief glimpse of the blonde quite literally launching himself at a poleaxed-looking Aya. The drapes swept mercifully shut before they could see the result of the collision, but it didn't take much imagination to guess what was on Youji's mind.

Which, if one asked Ken anyway (which of course nobody was going to do given that he seemed to be well on the way to becoming the Why Do People Never Listen to Me? Poster Boy) begged the question what the hell kind of a madhouse was this? No, really, _wouldn't_ it have been a lot simpler to go and pick someone up in a bar?

It appeared that it simply wasn't possible to lower your standards enough.

Author's note: Thanks to Whisper Reilman, who left me a comment containing the phrase 'I can make you a Ran'. I changed the song to 'I Can Make You a Ran' in light of it because it's just so right. Can't believe I overlooked it. I mean, it's perfect. Not to mention hilarious. Top marks for you!


	5. A Figment of Our Imaginations

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show**  
A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila

**Part Five: A Figment of Our Imaginations**

After that what could Manx do but sit at her desk with her hands in front of her and look rather prim, like a virgin headmistress in a Catholic girls' school confronted with her errant charges? There was no point in trying to beat these crazy perverts at their own game. She would make up for it by being the lone, dissenting voice of reason. It did seem a waste when one considered her admittedly abundant cleavage and long, shapely legs, the sight of which would have made Betty Grable weep for envy, but that was the way things were and Manx wasn't about to complain, seeing what everyone else was getting forced into.

At least this way she could maintain her not inconsiderable air of detached dignity, watching the antics of her charges from one remove. At least this way she kept her clothes on, which was considerably more than Aya, Omi or Ken had managed. Yes, Manx could tell that the words _mercies_, _small_ and _thankful_ were entering the equation with unseemly haste. One thing she was unequivocally glad about – at least this way she didn't have to go near the hypersexual, clearly crazed Youji any time soon. That man was bad enough as it was without the 'mad scientist' remit.

"If the poet is right and all life is merely a dream," Manx began with ominous gravity, "then Ken and Omi have no reason to fear. However, the sudden departure of their maniacal 'host' and his creation—" she had to admit that the _creation_ was a confection! "—into the convenient honeymoon suite he had ready for just such an occasion, left them both feeling apprehensive, uneasy and, (at least in Ken's case) utterly perplexed. A feeling which grew stronger as the other guests took their leave, and they were shown to their separate rooms."

Would it be _infra dig_ of her to admit she was actually becoming rather fond of delivering these pompous, portentous little speechlets? Maybe so, but Manx didn't care. This was actually kind of fun. All this and a wing chair too…

Omi couldn't get comfortable. He wasn't sure what he made of this bedroom – would 'boudoir' have been more accurate? – with all its chintzy furnishings, hanging drapes, filigree bedside lamps and the like. It looked like an illustration from some 'True Romance' comic or, failing that, an upmarket, old-fashioned shoujo manga. Omi would have felt out of place even if he hadn't been wearing his underwear, a dust coat and nothing else. And he'd taken the dust coat off.

Lying back on the bed, he managed to locate the off switch for the filigree bedside lamp. Staring at the ceiling he began, with nothing else to occupy his mind, to fret.

Worry Number One was simple and it ran Where is Ken? It seemed odd, given how… _licentious_ everyone in this house was, that they had been separated. He wouldn't have minded sharing a bedroom, or even a bed. In his current frame of mind Omi would positively have welcomed it. He felt lost and insecure and he would have liked to talk to Ken about it, a problem shared being a problem halved and all that. Worry Number Two was, as Ken had said earlier, the million-dollar question and _it_ ran What in the Name of All That's Holy is Going On Here? This was no way to get to sleep. He tried to think of something pleasant. Unfortunately, 'something pleasant' turned into Aya in black underwear. Er, _what_? Omi! Behave.

He folded the pillow double under his head and tried to settle down. He was still owl-wide awake, though, not to mention rather cold and very uncomfortable (was there something up with this mattress?) when someone knocked on the door. Sitting up, Omi grabbed for the filigree lamp on the bedside. If all else failed he could use it as a weapon. He would far rather have had his darts but needs must…

"Hello?" He called anxiously. "It's only me." The figure outside called.

Me. Omi frowned. Who is me? The obvious answer to that would be Ken, but that didn't seem likely. He knew Ken and 'night visiting' was one of the things it wouldn't occur to him to do. Well, it might occur to him but Omi doubted he would follow it through. Besides _Ken_ would have knocked on the door then opened it, ready-or-not-here-I-come, without waiting for a reply.

"That doesn't help much." He replied, getting a firmer grip on the lamp.

He was glad he had when Mister Outside, getting tired of waiting, opened the door and walked inside. Obviously not Ken. Omi could tell that much by the silhouette alone. This guy was too tall and broad-shouldered and the like to match. Ken was, as Omi had noted before, Ken. Which meant he was pretty average. Average height, average weight, average coloring, not average build: he erred on the slender side. This guy was willowy and nobody in their right mind would have described Ken as willowy.

"I didn't think you'd go for it." Mister Inside-Now said genially, dropping down onto the edge of the bed. He very nearly got a standard lamp in the face for his trouble but luckily for him he noticed Omi's swing and grabbed his wrist to block it. "There's no need for that, I'm not going to hurt you."  
"It's not that I'm worried about!" Omi snapped. "What are you doing in here?"  
"Well, this is my house." The man said reasonably.  
Omi sighed wearily, dropping the lamp to the bed. "Oh, it's you. What's the matter, isn't Aya-kun working properly?"  
Youji gave him a licentious smile. "Aya? Oh, he's working just fine. I wanted to see how you worked."

Omi wished he hadn't let go of the lamp as Youji grabbed him, pulling him close and _Ohmygod_ Youji was kissing him and he was doing it well and it had effectively short-circuited Omi's brain. Every instinct that he had was yelling at him to push Youji off, beat him senseless with the lamp then go and find Ken and get out of here, barely dressed or no. For some reason he didn't. The first thing he did was wrap his arms around Youji's neck and let the man deepen the kiss, only snapping out of it and struggling free after entirely way too long an interval had passed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Omi demanded breathlessly, shoving at Youji's chest and getting him to back off all of an inch or so. Well, he thought, it's a start. Now where's that damn lamp? Go away Youji you are making me think things that I should only be thinking of round Ken!  
"I think you know." Youji said smoothly, and tried to kiss him again. Omi evaded well. The only problem was this gave Youji easy access to his neck. He realized what a mistake _this_ had been when Youji nibbled gently on his earlobe and then began giving him the hickey of all time. It would perhaps have been better to let the guy kiss him again.  
"S… stop it!" Omi spluttered, wrenching his head back, horribly aware he was blushing, and trying to ignore the positively indecent sensations Youji's actions was provoking. No this wasn't right. He didn't enjoy enjoying this! Oh dammit now the guy had his hand down his top. Jesus Christ what was wrong with the man?! "I said cut that out!"  
"What's the matter?" Youji drew back, a little stung. "Aren't you enjoying it? I think you are. In fact, I think you're finding it quite pleasurable."

Which was how Omi made his First Big Mistake of the night. Youji, for all his licentiousness, was a gentleman underneath it all. If Omi had told him, no I'm not even remotely enjoying it, go away, I never want to see you again you horrible creepy seducer of innocents, Youji would actually have apologized and gone to find Aya for Round Two. Or after Ken, who had been clearly interested even if the guy was too goddam naïve to know that he was.

Unfortunately, Omi was a truthful soul and what he actually said was, "Well… um, so what if I am? That's really not the point! I mean so what if I like it I shouldn't be doing it." Which made it a matter of an inconvenient conscience, not one of sexual disgust, and that Youji felt perfectly justified in trying to work round.  
Youji blinked. "What, you mean Ken? Ken won't know if we don't tell him."

Youji was taking advantage of Omi's distraction to lie him back on the bed, pushing the tiresome bedside lamp aside with one foot. The last thing he wanted was Omi changing his mind halfway through and giving him a concussion. When Omi still didn't reply, he recommenced working on that record-breaking hickey. At which Omi was horribly aware that what remained of his resistance to the idea was packing up and preparing to take a brief vacation. Yes, it seemed that Omi's conscience had decided to take a quick trip to Bali, leaving Omi himself up the creek. What good were moral scruples in the face of the unbridled force of lust that was Youji? It was easy to resist temptation in your mind, but not so easy when temptation was lying on top of you and kissing your neck.

This wasn't good. Omi made one last valiant attempt to shore up his failing defenses.

"No, don't." he murmured, resting his hands on Youji's chest. "Stop it. I mean… help." It didn't sound like Omi meant much of anything. Certainly he didn't sound alarmed. Youji was moving steadily downwards, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. "I… oh. That is… Ken-kun…" Oh my God, Omi thought, his eyes flying open, what on Earth am I _doing_?! Either Ken was going to have to kill him, or he was going to have to kill himself! "_Ken-kun_!"  
Oops, Youji thought, his head snapping up, there's that inconvenient conscience again. "Ssh!" He placed one finger to Omi's lips; the boy stared up at him in wide-eyed fright. "Ken's probably asleep by now. Do you want him to see you like this?"  
"Like how?" Omi cried, struggling to sit up. "You started this, it's your fault!" He covered his face with his hands, probably to hide the fact that he was blushing furiously.  
Youji smiled reasonably. "Well, in that case he won't blame you then, will he?" He said, pushing Omi's hair from his eyes and giving him a surprisingly gentle kiss. "And Ken doesn't have to know. I swear I won't tell him."  
Omi peeped out at him from behind his fingers. "Promise?" He said, in a small voice.

Which was his Second Big Mistake of the night.

In the laboratory Schuldich, ostensibly cleaning the place up, was leaning on his mop handle as he flipped through the channels on a closed-circuit TV monitor. He raised one eyebrow when he located his master and realized exactly what the man was doing. So he's still getting plenty, Schuldich thought wryly, then turned to Crawford.

"He's busy." Crawford nodded as if he had expected no less. "I knew he would be, Schuldich." Does that mean it's time, Crawford?" Schuldich asked expectantly. "Yes, it's time." The American said dourly. Turning, he surveyed the room in quiet disdain.

The guests had departed; the room was completely deserted. Even Farfarello had been tidied away, leaving nothing but the open cell door, inside of which lingered a rather ominous stain. Schuldich's desultory mopping had got up the worst of the mess, leaving the room, if not exactly spotless, then at least neat enough. That task done, Crawford and Schuldich had turned their attention to the bridal suite.

Aya was lying face-down on the bed, that award-winning ass in its equally Gold Standard black briefs pointing heavenward. Youji, clearly not trusting him alone, had chained him to the bed by his ankles. Glad to be left alone, the dour young man was getting a quick nap in before Youji reappeared. He wanted to have all his energies intact so that he could let the playboy know exactly what he thought of him. He was preparing the world's most sizzling Death Glare for its grand debut. With any luck it would strike Youji dead and then he could go and get some more clothes on. Hours old though Aya was, he knew that some other people out there got to wear things called 'pants' over their briefs and he wanted a pair for his own.

Crawford and Schuldich were utterly unperturbed by the delicious sight laid out on the dark sheets for Youji's delectation. The two men had a Plan, and by Crawford's reckoning it was about time to put that Plan into action. Tonight was The Night. The Master – Master? Not in Crawford's book, or Schuldich's for that matter! – would never be more distracted than this. He would be _far_ too busy having sex with everything that moved to notice the devious plotting going on under his very nose.

Aya, the pair had decided, was going to help them.

Whilst Schuldich watched, smiling even more broadly than before, Crawford quietly drew a gun and slipped over to the sleeping Aya, gazing down at him with hard dislike. This redhead was far too glareful for him. Crawford was the undisputed Master of the Sinister Scowl and he was not having that position usurped by any damn interloper!

He gave Schuldich a brief glance. Schuldich nodded. He knew _exactly_ what Crawford wanted. Telepathy was so handy sometimes. He joined Crawford by the foot of the bed and released the chains around Aya's ankles, stepping quickly away as Aya stared, giving the two servants a junior Death Glare all of their very own, one which Crawford proved more than equal to. Stepping up to the side of the bed, he cocked his pistol and aimed it at Aya's head.

Aya started, but his expression didn't even waver as he jumped to his feet and backed away from Crawford, quickly locating his beloved katana and, darting quickly into the laboratory, grabbing it in both hands. Crawford turned to face him, leveling the gun at him. Aya backed off, katana raised. Schuldich watched the standoff with eager eyes, his grin turning ferocious.

Crawford broke the impasse by firing once twice three times at Aya. All warning shots, but close enough to spur the young man into action. As Crawford advanced Aya backed away, looking wildly around for a way out – he saw the lift shaft and, brandishing his sword threateningly as if to deter Crawford from following, leapt athletically down it and out of the laboratory. It would have been a great escape if Crawford had really had any intention of killing him.

"Nice one." Schuldich said in the silence that followed.

Crawford nodded at the redhead, tucked his pistol back in the shoulder holster concealed beneath his slightly worn black suit, and then crossed over to him, grabbing Schuldich's face in both hands and giving him a deep, passionate kiss. He hadn't spent this long around Youji without picking some things up.

Seal it with a kiss.

Ken had fallen asleep. He was ridiculously tired and if he had to see one more utterly fucked-up thing he thought his brain would give up the ghost. Yes, sleep had seemed a very good idea. He hadn't given much thought as to his surroundings except to be mildly annoyed that, though he was stuck in a house full of sex fiends, he seemed to be expected to go to bed alone. He wondered where Omi was and if he was all right. Well he'd bloody better be all right or there would be trouble. Still, they'd be out of here tomorrow. Ken had promised himself that much. They _would_ be out of here tomorrow even if he had to kill someone to manage it. Not something that would bother an assassin much, that.

Still, Ken didn't want to think about any more weird things between now and next Christmas, so within moments of being shown into this room he was gratefully out for the count.

All things being equal, then, he was very annoyed to be woken up by a knock at the door. With a stifled curse, he got to his feet, stretched expressively and, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, headed to the door. It occurred to him when he was halfway there that he should have put the dust coat back on, or looked for a robe or something, because now he was… yeah, he _was_ less dressed than that Aya guy. Aya had shoes on. Oh well, what the hell, too late for that now. He opened the door.

"What?" He asked irritably, only to be even more irritated when a figure brushed past him and waltzed right into the room, standing in the center of the room and looking at him, as far as Ken could tell given the darkness, meaningfully. "Who's that?"  
"It's me, Ken." The figure said triumphantly.

Who was me? Ken blinked. Logically he would have expected 'me' to be Omi, but there was a problem with that. Firstly, would Omi show up at his bedroom door and in a stranger's house at that? Nope. Not a bit of it. Not Omi's style. He certainly wouldn't walk on in like he owned the place. And Omi wouldn't just call him 'Ken'. Omi had never called him just plain 'Ken' in his life.

"No, _I'm_ Ken." Ken said shortly. "You are?"

Well, they obviously weren't Omi that was for sure. Ken could tell that much just from their outline. Omi was, well, elfin. He was small, blonde and cute. Smaller than Ken was and this guy was absolutely, definitely _not_ smaller than Ken. Like hell would he have to look up to Omi. Like hell Omi had ever been tall and willowy and obviously muscular. Ken frowned. He had a horrible suspicion and he wanted it, and this guy in his bedroom, to go away before he did something he'd regret. What he didn't know yet.

"Do you think I'm pathologically thick or something?" Ken demanded, taking a pace toward the stranger.  
Youji, for it was obviously he, laughed softly. "Don't make me answer that question."  
Ken bridled. "Oh will you fuck off, Youji? Like hell I'm going to think you're Omi when you're what, half a foot taller than he is?" And that was without taking the… um, physique into account, which Ken was trying desperately not to do and without much signal success. "You're taller than I am for fuck's sake and don't you dare say that's not hard! This is all bloody stupid I can't believe I'm seeing this and will you get out of my bedroom—!"

Two paces more and he was next to Youji. Giving him a shove, Ken tried to push him out of the door only to find out the flaw in that plan the hard way when Youji grabbed him by the shoulders and, pushing him against the wall and pinning his wrists above his head with one hand, kissed him so thoroughly that, just for a moment, Ken forgot all about trying to get Youji to go away. Or, indeed, about anything at all save making sure Youji didn't stop kissing him. Just for a moment, he relaxed into it and responded, until the rational core of his brain finally managed to scream some sense into the rest of it.

Somehow, he managed to pull away and he stared up at Youji in something approaching panic. "What the fuck are you playing at?"  
Youji just smiled seductively, his green eyes languorous. "Oh, I'm not playing, Kenken."  
"What did you just call me?" Ken asked, blushing and, again, momentarily forgetting the situation, but he snapped out of it before Youji could reply. "Oh who fucking cares, will you get off?!" Ken tried to pull his hands free, but Youji was holding them too tightly. But did he really mind?  
"Get off?" Youji murmured breathily into his ear. "Maybe later. There's something I'd like to do first."

Ken was about to ask what, only to be answered when Youji gave him another deep, mind-fucking kiss and ran one finger down his chest. Ken shivered. Did he mind this _that_ much…? _Hell_ yeah! Of course he fucking _minded_! This was absolutely insane, he didn't know this guy, what was going on and why in the flaming hell was he _enjoying_ it? Wasn't Omi—

With a single convulsive wrench, Ken managed to pull one of his hands free and he gave Youji another firm push, determined that this time he really would get the guy off and out of the room. He succeeded in making Youji back off an inch or so, but the blonde was now gazing at him with such carnal speculation that it made him go red. Ken's train of thought had been abruptly derailed. There had been something he'd wanted to say to Youji, hadn't there? Ken wondered what it had been.

"God, what are… I mean… go away! Please!"

Yeah, that had been it.

Which, Youji guessed and quite rightly at that, was Ken's attempt at a token protest. So, instead of going away, he half-carried, half-dragged the boy over to the oh-so-convenient bed and wasted no time in pinning him to the mattress, again with his hands caught above his head. He already knew enough about Ken to work out that, if left to himself, the boy might just try to break his jaw in one of those ill-timed attempts to change his mind. Ken yelped in affronted shock and tried to wriggle free but Youji wouldn't give him an inch. He knew he needed to tell Youji to bugger off but was too worried the request might be misinterpreted. Godfuckingdammit now what was he going to do?!

No, it really wasn't Ken's night for being listened to.

"What's the problem?" Youji murmured breathily in his ear. "Don't you like it?"  
Ken whimpered softly. Fucking hell this man was licking his ear and he was enjoying it. No. What, what, _what_? "I can't…" He said desperately, trying to convince himself as much as he was Youji, well aware that as arguments went 'I can't' lacked a certain _je ne sais quoi_. He was fighting a rearguard action against the forces of hopeless lust and opportunism and he didn't like it one bit.  
"Why not?" Youji whispered, kissing his neck. Ken tried very hard not to think about that, or about what Youji's free hand was doing. He was almost grateful the guy was pinning him to the bed with the other hand. What Youji would be doing if he had both hands free didn't bear thinking about. "Because of Omi? He doesn't have to know."  
"That's… _not_ the point!" Ken managed. Ninety percent of his brain, clouded by lust, was now haranguing the remaining ten percent, demanding to know why he couldn't just go with it. It was some credit to Ken that the remaining ten percent still held a controlling interest. "I… goddammit it's not right! I really think… stop it…" Hm. For some reason that hadn't sounded remotely like a demand. He closed his eyes. "I mean, please don't. It's… Omi…" Holy shit. Omi! He'd almost forgotten all about him! How the fuck was he supposed to tell Omi that he'd let Youji fuck— "_Omi_!"  
This time, Youji had expected it. "Ssh!" he whispered urgently, making sure he had a firm hold on Ken's wrists as the boy tried to pull free. If Ken managed to get away this time he could expect a broken nose at the very least. "Omi's probably asleep by now. Do you want him to see you like this?"  
Ken did a double-take. "Like how?"

It took all of a second and a half for Ken to realize Youji, damn him, had asked a damn good question. He was flat on his back, legs splayed, his hands pinned above his head. Somehow his left leg had ended up hooked over one of Youji's shoulders – now how had _that_ happened? – and never mind about Youji's bloody free hand! Yes, he was in a pretty compromising position and not one he would have liked to be discovered in by anyone at all, never mind by Omi. He blushed furiously at the thought. He could never have found any innocent justification for being caught in this position and he knew it.

"Come on, Kenken." Youji murmured into Ken's ear (oh yes, he really was in one _hell_ of a compromising position. How could he have explained it? Extreme chiropractics? Assisted yoga?) his voice a low, throaty purr. "I know you're enjoying it. There's nothing wrong with giving yourself over to pleasure. And don't worry about Omi. He need never know. I won't tell him, I promise you." Maybe it was Youji's free hand's fault, but Ken found he was having a more than a little difficulty telling Youji to go away. That dissenting ten percent of his brain had, it seemed, finally been talked round by the rest of it. "Well…" he said shakily, "If you _really_ won't tell…"

It was a tribute to Youji's prowess that when Crawford interrupted him, via the CCTV system, at a rather delicate moment a few short minutes later, Ken was in a sexual coma and barely noticed Youji's brief lapse of concentration never mind anything as contemporary as the TV monitor above the bed flickering into life. The world could have ended at that moment – and a tiny part of his mind was telling him that it damn near _had_ done – and Ken wouldn't have batted an eyelid. Youji, however, looked up briefly as the shadows were illuminated by the dancing light from the monitor.  
"What is it?" Youji murmured. "I'm… rather preoccupied."  
Crawford coughed a discreet little butler's cough. "I am afraid that Aya has escaped, master." He said simply. "Your new playmate has vanished somewhere in the castle grounds. Schuldich has just released the dogs."  
Youji tutted, then laughed playfully. "Just coming!"

He wasn't the only one.

Outside the castle Aya was in a position which was no less awkward, if not quite as compromising. In spite of the torrential downpour which had Ken deciding perhaps he'd wait to try and get away earlier, he had been stalking quietly and coolly around the gloomy, sodden grounds looking for the exit for about five minutes – it couldn't have been much longer than that, anyway – before he had heard the sounds of scrabbling paws and a veritable cacophony of barks and howls.

Looking behind him, he quickly made the unpleasant discovery that he was being chased by a foaming, snarling avalanche of Alsatian dogs. For a moment the expression of icy calm he had worn on his face for so much of his life was shattered as Aya allowed himself to feel rather perturbed. Even, almost, alarmed. Being chased by a pack of dogs whilst wearing nothing more than a pair of boots and scanty black briefs really was not a situation Aya would ever have wanted to get into.

Tightly clutching the katana in one hand, Aya broke into a run. Part of him was telling him that he could still escape if he made sure to run to the entrance. The rest of him told him he didn't care where he went to as long as there were no dogs chasing him and threatening to maul his inadequately protected manhood. Oh, and as long as it was away from Youji too. And Crawford. And Schuldich.

But what does that leave me with, Aya wondered as he ran. The bike shed?

Omi had pulled the few clothes he still possessed back on in a godawful hurry. He was blushing, wanted a shower and, worst of all, he was feeling horribly guilty. Never mind 'don't tell Ken', he had a horrible feeling he was going to have to and if Ken killed him because of it, well that Omi would have understood perfectly. Right now he would have gladly killed himself. Jesus God what on Earth had he done and why?

Well, that he knew. He had had sex with someone who was not only Not Ken but was also a near-stranger and, if that wasn't going to be hard enough to explain, said stranger was Nothing Like Ken. And it was because of the forces of unbridled lust. Yes, that had been it hadn't it? Omi was very new to this 'unbridled lust' thing and he wasn't sure he liked it. It seemed that when you got lust all logic went out the window along with all your moral scruples. He wished he hadn't… well, slept with Youji. Even if the man was kind of sexy and definitely good at it.

"Oh, no…"

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Omi realized something he should have done the minute Youji had started gnawing on his neck. He now had the hickey of all time there and wasn't it just a sight. Placing one hand over it, Omi winced. Nope, there was no way he was going to be able to cover _this_ one up. He didn't have any foundation for a start. Or an ice bag. Or a shirt. Ye Gods, he thought, staring into the mirror, am I in trouble here or what?

At which point he had an idea: he would find Ken and explain. No. Find Ken and apologize profusely. Even if it didn't work, it would at least be something to do.

Ken, meanwhile, wasn't doing a whole lot better. If truth be told, he was actually doing slightly worse.

Though he looked a little less obviously troubled than Omi, he was, in fact, wrestling with a whole slew of problems including 1. What About Omi?; 4. Guilt; 7. What Surgeons Refer to as 'Discomfort'; 10. Bruised Wrists; 12. Oh Dear God What Have I Done?; 15. Self-Disgust; 22. Really, What About Omi?; 23. Omi's Gonna Kill You, You Know; and last but by no means least 28. Hey, Why Am I Dating Omi When it Seems What I Really Want Deep in My Secret Heart is to be Dominated With a Capital Dominated.

All in all, not conjectures to make a guy feel comfortable. Especially not that last one. Ken had never really thought of himself as one of nature's submissives before. Was nature perhaps trying to tell him something?

In fact, Ken considered he was doing so badly that he was about to break the habit of a lifetime. True, he was only nineteen but when a body is nineteen years old, nineteen years is a long time. Whilst getting dressed again, if one could call putting underwear and a convenient cotton yukata on 'dressing', he had found, in the pocket of Youji's then-discarded leather pants, a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Didn't they say smoking calmed the nerves? Well, frankly Ken was getting desperate and he'd take anything they gave him if he thought it'd help him think a little more clearly about the situation. A bullet to the brain would have been ideal.

Throwing himself back on the bed and landing heavily in the obviously disordered sheets, he tried to ignore the fact that Youji, now fully-dressed and looking very much in command of the situation, was sitting bolt upright at the end of the bed. He seemed to have gone to sleep, or into stand-by mode, or something. It was kind of weird but Ken wasn't about to ask him what was up. He did not want to attract the guy's attention.

Sighing deeply, Ken lit the cigarette he had stolen from Youji and, placing both hands behind his head, tried to inhale. It would have been a great pose if he hadn't had a coughing fit and felt as if he were about to be violently sick. It wasn't making him any less confused, either, only adding another problem (29. Jesus _Christ_, how does anyone start smoking at all?!) to the list. This, Ken thought, fucking sucked.

**'Is It My Style'**

Ken:  
Is it my style to require domination,  
Getting told just what to do?  
Do I desire extreme subjugation?  
Why not admit  
That I've blown it –  
I know it's true.

Omi stepped into the corridor, anxiously. It was cold. Damnation take it what had happened to that dust coat he'd been wearing? He'd forgotten the bloody thing, hadn't he? This wasn't fair. Still, it didn't matter. He guessed it was some kind of gesture of penitence for having been carried away by lust. Now if only he could find Ken he'd be able to unburden himself and would feel an awful lot better. Yes, that would work. Even if all that happened was he ended up dead at least then he wouldn't have to worry about the guilt any more.

Ken:  
And that's really all that I need  
To know that I'm a mental mess.  
Perhaps I've a kink  
But it's kinda hard to believe,  
You learn something about yourself  
You'd never guessed.

But, Omi thought, do I _have_ to tell Ken? Youji said he wouldn't tell, so maybe if I don't I won't have to die. He knew Ken would be mad. Why wouldn't he be? Why bring all that down on yourself, Omi? Why provoke Ken's temper if you don't have to? Perhaps if he went and found a scarf and tied it round the hickey he'd be able to get away with not telling. Omi hesitated, blinking. Good God he was an intelligent kid and the best plan he could come up with for hiding an inconvenient love bite was 'wear a scarf'. No, that would never work. Besides, he didn't like the thought of deceiving Ken. Maybe not, he thought.

Ken:  
Oh, Jesus, you know this is some situation.  
No shit, Ken, what gave that away?  
Could I take a lead,  
With no trepidation?  
I've got to cope.  
Good God, I hope  
It'll be okay.

As he reached the lift, Omi had decided. Yes, he was going to tell Ken what had happened. Honesty was an important quality in a relationship, wasn't it? Yeah, trust, honesty, all that. It wouldn't be nice to admit to cheating on someone when you'd only told him you loved him that afternoon, but maybe, just maybe they'd be able to get beyond it. Ken had seen Youji, he knew what a flirt the guy was. Surely he'd understand it wasn't at all easy to say 'no' when you were pinned to a bed by a force of nature named Hurricane Youji? And there was a difference between sex and love, right? Sex _with_ love was surely the ideal, but having sex with someone didn't mean you loved them.

Ken:  
And that's really all that I need  
To know I've just gotta be strong.  
I'm sure I'll think  
Of how to proceed.  
Sure, I'll admit  
That I blew it –  
But I'll move on.

Omi slipped into the lift cage and rode it up. He had no idea where he was going and it showed. He clung nervously to the bars as the thing moved up, aware the lift was very rickety and not sure he liked it. In fact he wasn't sure he'd liked any of this so far and he was beginning to feel not just guilty, but annoyed. If Ken decided to finish with him over this Omi thought he would want to scream.

"Why are we here?" He murmured, resting his head against the bars. "Why didn't I tell Ken-kun I'd have been happy renting a cheesy movie and spending the night on the couch? Why is my night out turning into a cheesy movie, but with sex scenes? Why am I in this stupid situation and why is everyone in this stupid castle absolutely _nuts_?! Except Ken-kun." He added judiciously.

The lift jolted to a halt, throwing Omi against the meshwork door and very nearly pitching him off his feet. If the thing had been any bigger, he was sure he would have fallen over.

"_Why_ won't these stupid people get their stupid lift fixed!"

If Manx had looked prim before, that was nothing compared to how she looked for a brief few seconds right now. Good Lord. Couldn't Youji keep his pants zipped for five seconds? Going to bed with Aya, then Omi, then Ken one after the other and all within the space of an hour or so was a feat of stamina she wouldn't have believed even the great playboy was capable of. It was actually quite startling, and really no wonder that he was sat on the edge of Ken's bed in a total daze now. Ken's equally dazed state was rather less immediately understandable.

But she snapped out of it. She wasn't here to pass judgment on the morals, or apparent lack of same, of these boys. Settling back in her wing chair, she smiled both calmly and considerately.

"Why." She said gravely, her tones both detached and strangely maternal. "One small word, and yet a word which Omi repeated to himself over and over again. Yet it was far too late to discover a explanation for his predicament, or to wish that he had never fallen into it in the first place. It was as if he were riding a giant tidal wave. Futile, too, to try and fight against such a force of nature." Manx, of course, had no way of knowing that a force of nature exactly what Omi had compared the lust-crazed Youji to. "His only hope would be to ride it out, adapt, and in so doing perhaps also to survive."

Which, as Manx well knew, meant there was more sex coming up. Maybe, she thought, it was about time to start preaching morals to those boys after all. All this bed-hopping couldn't be good for them.

The lift had stopped back in the laboratory, now completely empty. Omi was kind of relieved to note that Ken wasn't in the laboratory, but that didn't answer the burning question of where he was. How was he supposed to apologize to the guy if he couldn't find him?

"Ken-kun," he said to the empty air, "Where are you?"

Temporarily out of ideas, Omi paced. He had nothing else to do and the laboratory, boasting as it did a large and practically empty sweep of floor space, was good for pacing in. He had just started to pace up and down beside the covered tank when he became aware of two things. One, there was a handy CCTV terminal installed on one of the walls. Omi, being an intelligent boy as well as a technically-minded assassin, albeit one in dire straits, guessed that it couldn't be too hard to figure out how to switch the channels on it and find out where Ken had got to that way. The second realization, coming hard on the heels of the first, was that he wasn't entirely alone.

He turned, frowning, trying to work out where the feeling was coming from. The room looked empty. So what… his gaze lighted on the covered tank. Ah. There was someone in the tank! Why would anyone choose to sit around in that tank? Unless… Omi gasped and colored. Was… was _Aya_ in the tank?! Oh my God. Should he uncover it? Should he not? What if he was still wearing those briefs? Aya had made Omi think things the first time he'd clapped eyes on him and now, post-Youji, he had a rather better idea of exactly what things he had been thinking of.

Creeping over to the side of the tank, an easy task for anyone when not exactly overdressed, never mind for an assassin, Omi tentatively raised a corner of the cloth and peeped beneath it. There was someone in the tank!

"Hello?" Omi called, gently tugging the sheet away.

Oh, horror of horrors. It _was_ Aya! And he was still wearing the briefs.

Omi immediately blushed furiously as Aya sat up, leaning on the side of the tank, and those amazing violet eyes met his own. Suddenly, he wished he was wearing the dust coat again. Something about Aya's cool regard made him extremely conscious of his own state of undress. Not that Aya was wearing any more than Omi himself was. Quickly he turned away, spotting the monitor again.

"Just a moment… I want to find out what's happened to Ken-kun."

Giving Aya a bright smile which the redhead, of course, didn't return, he hurried over to the monitor and began switching through the channels. For a while Omi saw nothing. Various empty rooms and corridors. Nagi and Schuldich sitting in one of the bedrooms having some kind of phallic take on a slumber party, his own empty room, occasional shots of Alsatian dogs tearing around the place looking for something to maim. No sign of Ken, or of Youji for that matter. It wasn't terribly interesting. He began to think he wouldn't find anything until he switched into another of the bedrooms.

The image displayed on the screen was not designed to reassure Omi. Not one little bit. Youji was still sat at the end of the bed, now smoking a cigarette of his own. Ken, wearing a cotton yukata – though going by the amount of leg he was showing he might as well not have bothered putting the thing on – lay face-up on the bed behind him, either in a daze or asleep. It wasn't easy to tell. What it was easy to tell was what the pair must have been getting up to. It hardly required much of an effort on Omi's part given his own earlier… experiences in that direction.

It left Omi, staring at the screen in invidious rage, hurt. Jealous, resentful and angry. Partly because of Youji – he must have gone chasing after Ken almost the minute he let himself out of Omi's bedroom and knowing that all the blonde had wanted from him was sex was rather insulting – but mainly because of Ken. God, how dare he!

"Ken-kun!" Omi cried in indignant horror. "How _could_ you…!" a thought occurred to him, "do… exactly the same thing… that I've just gone and done. _Oh_."

He let his head hang forward, hair in his face. Righteous indignation was really no fun when the object of your anger had just as much reason to be angry at you and for exactly the same reason. Let it not be said Omi was anything but a fair-minded soul. It didn't stop him being angry, but it did, unfortunately, mean that he couldn't take the 'oh how could you do such a vile thing to me, does my love mean that little to you?!' moral high ground that, ordinarily, a betrayed lover had recourse to. How could Omi complain when Ken was only doing exactly the same things he had done?

The one plus was that it meant Ken couldn't get mad at _him_ when and if he chose to reveal his own little indiscretion. Omi turned away from the monitor, fuming, and met Aya's eyes again. The redhead was still in the tank, watching him incuriously.

It was then Omi realized that Aya looked rather disheveled. His fine red hair was damp and disordered, his fair skin spattered here and there with mud and bruises and scarred with the occasional cut. He blinked, suddenly troubled. What had happened to poor Aya? He was far too… too… Omi's mind supplied _beautiful_, he rejected it out of hand then decided, why not? Yes, far too beautiful to have something like that happen to him! Hurrying over to the battered redhead, blue eyes full of concern, Omi looked around for something he could use to dress Aya's wounds, eyes finally alighting on his own undershirt. Hm. Yes, that would do.

"You're hurt, Aya-kun." He said softly, placing one hand on Aya's bruised forearm.  
"It's nothing." Aya replied instinctively.  
Omi shook his head firmly. "No, it's not. You're bleeding, Aya-kun… Here, let me help."

Aya capitulated, allowing Omi to fuss around him, exclaiming once or twice as he spotted a few painful-looking scratches. Really, Aya wasn't as badly hurt as all that: certainly he was nowhere near as seriously hurt as all Omi's fussing would have suggested, but Omi didn't care. He was finally getting to touch the gorgeous Aya without anyone yelling at him or pulling him away and Omi was determined that he was going to make the most of it.

Perhaps it was because he was irritated at Ken, but the proximity of Aya in his full glory was making Omi think things again. And, this time – definitely because he was irritated at Ken – Omi wasn't telling himself he should stop.

And that was how Omi made his Third Big Mistake of the night.

Manx stood, crossed over to her bookcase and retrieved a heavy, leather-bound dictionary, trying not to look disapproving. Honestly, Youji she could understand but she would have expected better of Omi and Aya. She almost wished she could interrupt them before they started – Omi's 'injury-checking' was already far more enthusiastic than Aya's condition warranted. This was getting ridiculous.

She opened the dictionary, leafed through it until she found the entry she was looking for, then read. "Emotion." She looked up from the pages, her red hair tumbling down one side of her face. "A strong feeling, as of joy, sorrow, or hate; a state of mental agitation or disturbance." Was that really the best that lexicographers could come up with as a definition of emotion? Manx wondered. God, what a dry definition of something that could prove so utterly overwhelming. She closed the book, holding it in one slender hand, and raised her head. "It is also a powerful and irrational master. And, in light of the events which Schuldich and Nagi eagerly witnessed on their own television monitor, Omi was unquestionably held within its thrall."

In short: someone, please, hose Omi down.

Nagi had found the channel quite by accident.

Schuldich had been flipping between Aya's brush with the Alsatians and Youji's collision with Ken for the last half-hour or so but both top-class sporting events had now concluded and there was nothing worth seeing. And certainly there was nothing worth watching on the actual television. He had been about to turn it off when Nagi, now dressed in a pair of baggy pajamas and looking even more like jailbait than he had in the sequined number he'd worn earlier, had decided, why not check the rooms one last time?

If he'd actually had to get up from his laughably diminutive bed to do this, Nagi might well not have bothered but, flipping from channel to channel using only the power of his mind, he spotted the goings-on in the laboratory and guessed, quite correctly, that another collision was in the offing.

"Schuldich, look at this." He said evenly.  
Schuldich turned back to the monitor, blinking. "Well I'll be goddammed," he said with a smirk. "I didn't think the brat had it in him."  
Nagi raised an eyebrow. "What's he thinking?"  
The redhead laughed. "You don't need me to tell you that, Nagi." He chuckled, flopping languorously down to watch the screen. He grinned. "Oh, this is going to be good."

Aya submitted to Omi's attempts to clean his wounds with his usual stoic dignity. He didn't quite seem to realize – unlike Schuldich and Nagi – that Omi's intents had gone from hoping to simply bandage him up to… quite other matters. He was still under six hours old, though, and though Youji had been more than prepared to show him a bit of 'the other', he hadn't exactly explained the art of the blatant come-on to poor Aya, leaving him more than a little flummoxed by Omi's blatantly flirtatious sallies. He didn't understand what in the world the little blonde was trying to do and was, to be honest, rather confused. Hadn't this boy been with someone else earlier?

Maybe that didn't mean anything. Aya was rather confused and his brow furrowed. What was going on here? Maybe it was worth asking. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe he should tell Omi to go away. He nearly did, but sadly for Aya, Omi's proximity was causing him to think a few things himself.

**'Touch-a Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me'**

Omi:  
I find from time to time  
Ken-kun's kind  
Simply can't give me all I need.

Nagi blinked, turning to look at Schuldich in bewilderment. He'd known this strange couple were naïve, but Good God there were limits to his credulity. The redhead shrugged. He wasn't at all surprised.

Nagi:  
Only 'from time to time'?

Schuldich:  
Go fig.

Omi, oblivious, busied himself tugging at the hem of his undershirt, tearing a piece off and using it to dab at a scratch on Aya's upper arm. Aya looked down at him in mild confusion. The cut had stopped bleeding long ago. What was this strange child doing?

Omi:  
I guess there's no denying  
That at least… he's trying.  
But, well, he's kinda clueless  
Which ain't satisfying.

And now he's made me mad,  
And that's too bad  
'Cause I've a hunger  
I must feed.

Schuldich and Nagi:  
Feed, feed, feed.

Another rip and a good half of Omi's undershirt had gone West, leaving him in an incredibly attenuated… thing which looked more like a little girl's crop top or a slightly overlarge bikini top but, more importantly, with a pair of handy rags to bandage Aya with. He managed, with a little difficulty, to find a sluggishly bleeding wound (and what luck, it was on Aya's upper thigh!) and began, ever so diligently, to wrap the scraps of his shirt around it. How fortunate for Omi that he knew first aid.

Omi:  
I may be over-zealous  
In making Ken-kun jealous  
But maybe there is something  
Fate's trying to tell us.

Aya blinked again, surprised. The bandage on, Omi had now turned his attention to his shoulders, which he was attempting, with some difficulty given the tank, to massage. "I'm not injured there," he pointed out. Sadly, Omi didn't seem to have heard. Tentatively, he reached for Aya's hands and placed them on his own waist. Aya began to understand.

Omi:  
Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me.  
I'm feelin' quite flirty.  
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me.  
Hunter of the Light.

I've gotta fuel the fire  
Of my desire  
So kiss me quick then love me slow.

Schuldich and Nagi:  
Slow, slow, slow.

Omi:  
I know it's bad behavior –  
Aya-kun, I need a favor.  
We need not tell the others,  
I wont betray you.

Omi had now given up all pretense that he was trying to heal Aya. Jumping into the tank, where Aya was still conveniently ensconced, he wrapped his arms around the redhead. He was glad to note that yes, Aya was beginning to get the idea. Clumsily, he was attempting to respond to Omi's equally clumsy caresses.

Omi:  
Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me.  
I'm feelin' quite flirty.  
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me.  
Hunter of the Light.

Nagi and Schuldich did know what to do. It was a pity they weren't at all attracted to one another though Schuldich, for his own amusement, had begun to paw at Nagi in a not-so-loving parody of the pair. Okay, he thought, they're both pretty inexperienced but _damn_, this is one awkward-looking encounter.

Nagi:  
Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me.

Schuldich:  
I'm feelin' quite flirty.

Nagi:  
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me.

Schuldich:  
Hunter of the Light.

Inexperienced or not, Omi was enjoying himself so maybe it didn't matter. Somehow he had now ended up beneath Aya, though the tank wasn't big and it must have taken quite the effort. All the same, that was where he was and he was damn pleased to be there, too. Aya was damn gorgeous and who cared if he wasn't quite the same sexual tornado Youji had been?

Omi:  
Oh, touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me.  
I'm feelin' quite flirty.  
Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me – oh -  
Hunter of the Light.

Aya:  
Hunter of the Light.

Omi nodded, then took time out to succumb to what could only have been described as a brief group-sex fantasy. The way events were panning out, it was probably no bad idea.

Ken:  
Hunter of the Light?

Youji:  
Hunter of the Light.

Schuldich:  
Hunter of the Light.

Crawford:  
Hunter of the Light.

Nagi:  
Hunter of the Light.

Aya:  
Hunter of the Light.

Omi:  
Hunter of the Light. Oh!


	6. A Change of Plans

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show** A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila 

**Part Six: A Change of Plans**

They're mad, Ken thought wearily as he followed Youji down the corridor from a lack of anything else to do. They are all absolutely and completely… utterly mad. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe things would be easier if he didn't try to understand but let it all wash over him. 

He winced sympathetically as Youji, brandishing a nasty whip, viciously belabored the fleeing figure of Crawford. Crawford tried to dart into the lift cage to get away from Youji, hammering at the down button with considerably less cool than he usually exhibited, but Youji followed him in. Ken, shrugging, went after them on the grounds that he hadn't been told to go away. Yes, they were all absolutely completely and utterly mad. Except Omi. 

He wondered where Omi was and what on earth he could say to the boy next time they met up. Oh, hi, yeah I know we only started dating this afternoon but I just wanted to let you know I've already fucked around with Youji behind your back. Not a good start to any relationship – and yes, he still wanted to have a relationship with Omi. He loved Omi. No, that would never work and Omi would kill him and that wasn't a good foundation for a relationship either. What about begging for forgiveness? 

Speaking of which… Ken tried to step back as Youji attacked Crawford with that awful whip again only to be incommoded by the lift cage. No doubt Crawford was relieved when the lift stopped and he dashed out, somehow maintaining his balance. Youji ran after him with the whip again. 

"Hey, steady on!" Ken protested, feeling it was about time he registered some kind of disapproval.   
Youji turned, as if surprised to see him there. "You stay out of this." he said coldly.   
"But you're hurting him!" Ken replied indignantly. "What did he do anyway?"   
"He let my beautiful creation escape!" Youji cried furiously, then his expression changed to one of the purest despair. "Oh, Aya…" He moaned, and looked as if he were about to burst into tears. "Oh, Aya, Aya, Aya!"   
"Okay, okay, I'm sure he'll show up!" Ken said hastily, mortified by Youji's sudden turn for the hammy.   
"I was only away for a minute, Master." Crawford finally managed to get a word in edgeways.   
Youji now turned to _him_ as if he were surprised to see him there. "Well, see if you can find him on the monitor," he snapped, giving Crawford another cut with the whip. 

He missed the look on Crawford's face as the man walked over to the monitor and began flipping through the channels. Ken didn't and thought, oh dear. Now he really wanted to get out of here before someone else ended up dead! Getting caught in the crossfire of a potentially fatal falling-out between master and servant was not his idea of a good night out. Then again, none of this had exactly conformed with his idea of a good night out so far, why should it start now? 

"Master, we have a visitor." Crawford said smoothly, stepping away from the monitor.   
"What, another one?" Youji asked, giving Ken a critical look, then he smiled. "Are they fuckable?" 

He hurried over to the monitor, eyes alight with curiosity. Maybe this visitor would be a hot and sexy woman. Ken followed out of misguided curiosity, doing a double-take as he recognized the figure – or, to be more precise, recognized their outline. Had said individual been in a well-lit room as opposed to skulking around the castle grounds in the gloom, Ken might well not have recognized him. However, by purest chance, the play of light and shade on the newcomer's face almost exactly mimicked that of the back-lighting in Persia's study. 

"Hey, isn't that—" What would Persia be doing here, and at this time of night?   
"Ah. Not fuckable." Youji interrupted, disappointed. "Pity."   
Ken looked at him in surprise. "Haven't you had enough for one night?" he asked.   
"Well, now that you mention it…" Youji took a pace toward him, giving him a significant glance.   
Ken immediately backed off several paces, hands raised defensively. "_Go away_."   
"Did you say you knew this… person?" Crawford asked, fixing Ken with a sinister glare which was easily the equal of Aya's.   
Ken grinned awkwardly. "Well… if that really is Persia, then kind of…" He tailed off, wondering why Crawford and Youji were giving one another such weird glances. Either Youji was eyeing Crawford up or they were getting suspicious for no reason at all. "But it's not what you'd call a friendly relationship! It's more like he has me kill people for him from time to time…" 

Okay, that didn't seem to work. Crawford and Youji were now exchanging very significant glances. It probably didn't help that, on the monitor, Persia was looking very sinister and suspicious indeed. Which was considerably more than Ken was doing. He tugged anxiously on his fringe, fidgeting and tried to think. What exactly was going on here? If he'd not known these guys were weird as hell before, this would have confirmed it. Too bad he had done. 

"So." Youji said coldly. "Then you came here with a purpose."   
"Do I look like I've got any kind of a purpose to you?" Ken asked incredulously.   
Crawford smiled coldly. He was alarmingly good at it. "Appearances can be deceptive."   
Which just about did it for Ken. "Look, you two! I came here because I needed to use the phone. If you'd let me do that I'd have been out of here hours ago! You guys were the ones who insisted on me sticking around so don't you now blame me for being here!" He folded his arms and seethed quietly to himself, looking quite credibly pissed off.   
Youji looked at him suspiciously. "You are either an absolute idiot or a very good actor, Hidaka."   
"In which case I'm an absolute idiot, then!" Ken shouted. 

Youji decided, once again, to ignore him. He turned back to the screen. 

If it was at all possible for a sharply-suited man sitting calmly in a wheelchair to be creeping suspiciously around the place, then that was what the intruder was doing. He had discreetly entered the castle by a conveniently open door and was now poking around in one of the empty rooms, peering around under desks and in waste bins, looking for strange instances of sin. Unlike Youji's previous guests, he seemed to have come prepared. It would have been no surprise to discover that he had bell, book, candle and a drinks bottle full of holy water, not to mention a convenient gun or two, hidden under the natty Black Watch tartan blanket he had spread over his knees. 

If anything could have been designed to convince Youji that, in the face of the damning evidence to the contrary commonly known as Ken Hidaka, he was falling victim to a Sinister Conspiracy, Persia's behavior would have been it. He turned from the monitor in medium to high dudgeon, turning to the patiently-waiting figure of Crawford. 

"He's in the Group Sex Room."   
"You have a Group Sex Room?" Ken asked.   
"You're surprised?" Youji asked, raising a wry eyebrow. The look on Ken's face said no, he wasn't in the least surprised. "Good job I thought to have this _giant magnet_ installed. Crawford!" 

Obediently, somehow managing to hide the look of quiet disdain on his patrician features, Crawford threw a large lever set into one of the wall panels. Another irritating low hum started up and a bank of lights began winking on one after the other. Oh please, Ken thought, this is just getting stupid now. No, it got stupid several hours ago. They're all completely mad. Where the hell was Omi and why, if Youji was so pissed off to have him round the place, couldn't they just go? Maybe he'd been abducted. Oh, Lord, now Ken really wanted to get out of here and go home! 

Youji, meanwhile, was watching the screen. On it, Persia's wheelchair had suddenly gone into overdrive and was now shrieking around the castle, bouncing up and down staircases, rattling and clattering along empty corridors and ricocheting off closed doors. At one point he burst through the open door of Nagi's room, and looped around the clearly bewildered figures of Nagi and Schuldich no less than three times before rattling back out and banging down another flight of steps, jolting Persia from side to side as if he had decided to go joyriding on a pneumatic drill. All the while Persia himself clutched the handrests and mouthed frantic instructions which the chair, of course, utterly ignored, heeding as it was the irresistible call of Youji's Giant Magnet. 

Finally, the wheelchair burst through the wall of the laboratory in a great _wumph_ of plaster dust and broken masonry tiles. Ken – who, with his usual unerring luck, had ended up stood almost in front of the new hole – just managed to jump clear before the wheelchair screamed past him and ended up stuck, quivering, to the magnet. 

"Persia?" Ken scrambled hastily to his feet, looking the man over. He looked rather different without his back lighting.   
By rights the manner of his arrival should have reduced Persia to a quivering wreck, but being a man of not inconsiderable cool he managed to shrug it off. He was, in truth, rather more surprised by Ken's presence. "Ken? What are you doing here?"   
Ken shrugged. "I dunno, ask this guy."   
Enough of the games, you two." Youji said coldly, utterly ignoring the baffled look Ken shot Persia and the only marginally less confused one he received in return. "You know full well why Ken is here, Persia. It was part of your plan, was it not, that he and that brat of his should check the layout of this castle for you. Why you chose such an absolute idiot to carry out such an important plan I'll never know—"   
"Hey!" Ken shouted, affronted.   
Persia looked coldly at Youji. "That's because there is no plan…"   
Youji, sadly, disregarded them both. He was in full and splendid auto-rant and was not about to allow something as trivial as the truth to stop him now. "Unfortunately for you both, I'm afraid there will have to be a few minor alterations made to your cute little scheme. I'm sure you can find it in yourself to be… flexible, Persia. I know Ken is." 

At which Youji gave Ken a look which managed to be both significant, seductive and more pointed than the average echidna. Ken responded by scowling at him. Maybe he was no good at the Death Glare, but scowling was something Ken could do, and do well. This was getting stupid. Did Youji really think he looked as if he'd come here with any kind of plan in mind? 

"How many times, there's no bloody plan!" Ken retorted. "And screw _flexible_, my back's killing me, you bastard!"   
Persia simply sat there, regarding the two bickering young men stonily and waiting for them to stop shouting at one another. Ken, recognizing the signs, shut up as soon as he'd seen the look on the man's face; Youji turned to him, surprised. He hadn't been expecting Persia to start with the Pointed Glares too. When he was sure he had everyone's attention, Persia finally broke his stony silence. "I can assure you that Ken's presence here is something I had not anticipated. As he has said, there is no plan. I came here to find Jei."   
"Jei?" Ken looked blank.   
So did Youji. "Who's Jei?"   
"Or Farfarello, as he likes to call himself." Persia elaborated.   
"Oh, _that_ guy!" Ken said in surprise, pulling a face. "Well you've had kind of a wasted trip, he's—"   
Youji shushed him. "How do you know Farfarello, Persia?"   
"I happen to know a great deal about a number of things." Persia said. Oh, don't you just, Ken thought. Far too much for anyone to be at all comfortable in your company. "You see, Farfarello – Jei – happens to be my brother's bodyguard."   
Ken blinked. Partly because he was startled, partly because once again he didn't understand what the deal was. Maybe Persia was completely mad as well. "Oh. Who's your brother?" 

Someone in the room seemed to have got Persia's drift, though. Someone gave a small, stifled gasp. Youji at first thought it was Ken (there was no way on Earth it could have been Crawford) and turned to him, but Ken was looking at him in a way that more or less said hey Youji, did you give a small startled gasp just now? Not Ken, then, Youji thought. He turned away, trying to work out where the noise was coming from, only to realize – it was the tank. 

He hadn't left that thing covered up earlier. 

A horrible doubt assailed Youji's mind and he stalked over to the tank. Ken, thinking along much the same lines and no happier about it than Youji was, followed. Before Ken could join him, though, Youji had made to tug the scarlet drapes off the tank. Something, however, wouldn't let him and tugged the drapes from his hand. Youji exchanged a suspicious glance with Ken, for the first time that night in perfect sympathy with him. Just as it seemed Youji was about to have to yell 'I know you're in there', a clearly disheveled Omi peeped up from the tank, clutching the drapes around him and blushing furiously. Aya, looking barely any less tumbled than Omi was, surfaced just next to him, an expression of dignified bemusement on his face. 

"Omi?" Ken looked confused.   
"Ken-kun!" Omi squeaked, trying to hide beneath the blankets.   
"Aya!" Youji sounded scandalized.   
"Omi!" Ken yelled, _seriously_ affronted this time.   
"Omi?" Persia wheeled himself over.   
"Persia!" Omi said in shock.   
"Youji." Aya said solemnly, looking rather less serene himself.   
"Aya!" Ken shouted.   
"Ken." Aya stared him down.   
"Aya-kun!" Omi said beseechingly.   
"Aya!" Persia got in on the act.   
"Persia!" Youji shouted.   
"Youji!" Persia retorted.   
"Aya!" Youji wailed.   
"Youji!" Ken snapped.   
"Ken!" Youji turned on him.   
"Omi!" Persia had caught on.   
"Persia!" Omi cried again. 

Crawford, witnessing the confusion with his usual air of glacial calm and holding himself scrupulously aloof from it all, thought they sounded like they were conducting some weird census – or, failing that, like they were all a bunch of idiots. He suspected it was the latter. 

"I made you," Youji snapped at Aya, "and I can break you just as easily!"   
Aya's expression said he doubted it. Aya's eyes said, where's my katana, let's see if we can prove it. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough, though I for one am inclined to doubt it. Aya, in fact, managed to Death Glare Youji into looking away from him, though the playboy managed to disguise it quite well as a piqued, disgusted 'I turn my back on you' kind of gesture. 

That didn't help Ken and Omi much. They were gazing at one another with frank mistrust, as if they suspected one another's motives, mixed with not an inconsiderable amount of embarrassment. They were, for the record, both blushing. Omi tried to hide beneath the sheets again, extremely conscious of the fact that he was wearing very little and had obviously been Up To No Good for the second time that night. Should he tell Ken he'd seen him having a bout of post-coital depression with Youji in an attempt to mitigate his own guilt somewhat? Ken, meanwhile, was wondering just why Omi had jumped into bed (no not into bed, don't be stupid Ken, that's a tank he's in) with Aya. Perhaps he really _was_ too short. 

Schuldich, with impeccable timing, chose that moment to interrupt and thus call an end to the impasse. Stepping through the hole left by the passage of Persia's wheelchair and brandishing a gong, he hit the thing with a resounding boom and stopped all conversation quite neatly in its tracks. 

"Oi!" Schuldich called, far louder than was needed. "Dinner."   
Youji exchanged a glance with Crawford, then nodded graciously, making a mental note to have a quiet word with Schuldich about the way he addressed him in front of guests. Such a casual tone did not do any credit to his position as Lord of the (oh so dubious, and oh how he loved the dubious) Manor. "Thank you, Schuldich."

"Dinner," Ken said, "at this time of night? What time is it anyway?"   
It was a good question – obviously then it wasn't going to be answered. Youji turned to his determinedly unwilling guests. "Persia, you will be able to sample the specialty of the house – roast loin of pork. Under the circumstances," He said, looking meaningfully at the decidedly underdressed Omi and making Ken feel very grateful that he'd managed to find the yukata he was currently wandering about the place in, "I won't expect you to dress." 

It gets worse, and worse, and worse. Sat at her desk with an expression of vacant disbelief on her face, Manx would have buried her head in her hands if she hadn't known there was more worse and worse to come and it would be better to save that grandiose gesture of despair for when it was really needed. She was beginning to wonder about these boys. She had never suspected Omi was such a sex kitten. As for Ken, his naïveté was getting alarming. The lights were on but Manx was getting the distinct impression that nobody was home, nor had they been for quite some time. As for Youji, the less said about _him_ the better! 

And, as if things hadn't been uncomfortable enough, Manx was now having to watch Persia humiliate himself as well. Poor, poor Persia! She wished there was something she could do for him. Oh well, the sooner she got done, the sooner _everything_ would be over. 

"The sharing of food," Manx said, once again grateful that all she was being called upon to do was comment on the situation and she wouldn't be expected to eat any of the… _banquet_ Youji was serving up for his now determinedly freaked out visitors, "has long played an important part in mankind's social rituals. The symbolic repast of the Communion; the last meal of the condemned man, the funeral supper. And now, this meal. However informal the setting, one could be sure there would be little 'bonhomie'." 

The meal would later rank as perhaps the most uncomfortable moment of Ken's life (to say nothing of the most utterly, completely disgusting thing he had ever been forced to eat). Connoisseur of the various ways an individual could manage to completely humiliate himself that Ken was, he was quite used to feeling awkward. This meal, however, was something else entirely. 

First off, nobody was talking. At all. And, though Youji may have not wanted them to dress up, surely he couldn't have intended there to be this much dressing _down_ going on? 

Youji sat at the far end of the table, stern and forbidding as any patriarch, though considerably better dressed and a lot sexier than the image might imply. Sexy or not, he looked dour. Omi, next to him, hadn't even had time to brush his hair and looked uncomfortably like something out of a cathouse. Nagi, opposite Omi, still wore his striped pajamas. He was fidgeting. Schuldich looked entirely too knowing and when Schuldich looked knowing there was trouble brewing. Sometimes he could have wished he could trade his telekinesis for something a little more useful, like Schuldich's telepathy. Next to him Aya sat, still dressed in nothing more than gloves, boots and briefs and looking rather inappropriately severe. Ken himself really missed his jeans and wished his feet weren't bare. Still, thank God for that yukata or he'd be feeling totally stupid about now. Finally Persia, sat opposite Youji at the other end of the table, looked far too respectable, as if he had accidentally wandered in from a different dinner party. His suit and tie rendered him utterly upright and out of place amongst the disreputable disarray of his companions. 

Why, Ken wondered, was the table shaped like a coffin? And why were there so many forks? And why was Youji serving up a meal that consisted of meat and celery and nothing else? Ken didn't like the way this was going and judging by his companions' expressions he wasn't the only one. 

It was a relief when Crawford and Schuldich appeared, Crawford brandishing a joint of foul-looking meat and Schuldich carrying a carafe of wine. After placing the joint beside Youji, Crawford joined Schuldich in pouring out large glasses of cheap red plonk for all present, as well as liberally spattering the tablecloth with the stuff. It didn't seem to matter. Once that was done, they went to stand either side of Youji, Schuldich now brandishing an alarmingly phallic carving knife, which he had exposed with the fake grin and triumphant flourish of a top-drawer game-show hostess revealing a not-that-terrific prize. 

"A toast." Youji said, standing up. "To absent friends." He smiled pointedly.   
"Absent friends." His guests murmured awkwardly. 

Ken decided he was going to get drunk. 

Following that, another uncomfortable silence descended as Schuldich handed Youji the very phallic knife and Youji began to attack the joint, enthusiastically buzz-sawing it into bite-size kibbles. He looked less like a genial host and more like a lumberjack hacking away at some poor, innocent tree. Certainly it appeared he could have done with some safety goggles. Finally though, the plates were distributed, everyone sung a ridiculously awkward rendition of 'Happy Birthday' to the grim-faced Aya, who by the looks of things would have preferred them not to bother, and the meal got underway. It was no surprise by now when it was conducted in an awkward silence. Ken picked at the meat, which to his mind tasted worryingly like Spam, and concentrated on gulping down as much wine as was humanly possible. You got more drunk if you did it on an empty stomach, right? 

At last, Persia broke the silence. "We came here to discuss Farfarello."   
"Farfarello?" Nagi squeaked.   
Youji smirked. "I consider that choice of subject to be in rather poor taste, Persia. Would anyone like some more meat?" 

Schuldich grinned madly. Omi paled, clapping his hands over his mouth and looking in wide-eyed dismay down at his plate. For all those who didn't get the import of Youji's comment, Omi's reaction and Schuldich's face-splitting smirk would both by themselves have been clue enough as to what he had been implying. Nagi looked appalled. Persia scrutinized his meat suspiciously. Ken pulled a face and pushed his own plate in the approximate direction of away. 

"Oh, that's _disgusting_!" He exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. "Youji have you ever thought of having your head read? Where the fuck do you _get_ your ideas? And why can't you leave us out of—"   
"Excuse me." Nagi cut him off. 

Standing, he stepped away from the table, pushed his chair neatly back into place, then walked calmly from the room. Omi looked as if he would have liked to do the same, only at a run. Ken downed the last of the wine in his glass then wiped his mouth. No wonder that meat hadn't tasted quite like pork! Only Persia looked as if he wasn't in the least bit surprised but, being a man of considerable cool, it would have taken a lot to surprise Persia. 

"I knew he was in with a bad crowd." He said finally, serenely, rather disappointing Youji who had secretly rather hoped the revelation that he was eating his – what was it? – brother's now determinedly ex-bodyguard would throw Persia off-kilter somewhat. "But it was worse than I imagined. Espers!"   
"Persia!" Omi cried.   
Ken leant over to look at Youji. "… Is there something you've not been telling us?"   
Youji leered at him. "My mental power is my phenomenal sexiness and skill at fucking people."   
"That's a mental power?" Ken looked nonplussed.   
"Well, it certainly isn't normal, now, is it?" Youji grinned. "Do carry on, Persia… or should I say Shuichi Takatori?" he added with positively poisonous sweetness, leaning forward across the table to gaze a little more closely at the man. 

Omi gasped, shocked. Good God, did Youji mean it? His wasn't the most extreme reaction, though. That cane from Aya, who had remained largely quiet, but now suddenly sat bolt upright, grabbed a table knife and held it clenched tightly in one fist. "Takatori…" he muttered under his breath. The knife began to shake. Omi shuffled his chair a little closer to Ken's. Okay, so Aya was pale and cool and very sexy. But he was by the looks of things verging on the psychotic as well. Omi thought he could cope with Ken being rather less pale and cool and sexy under those circumstances. 

"I just don't get it…" Ken said vaguely.   
Okay, so Ken was also an airhead. But at least he wasn't _psychotic_. "What are you implying, Youji-kun?" Omi asked, and got menaced by the table knife for his pains.   
"That's all right, Omi." Persia said gently.   
Omi gazed at him, troubled. "Persia…?" 

Persia ignored him, picking up some meat on a fork and regarding it with a pensive, dreamy air. So this was what had become of Farfarello, was it? Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised… 

**'Farfie'**

Persia:   
That boy was designed   
To be trouble. 

Committing crimes   
To see if God cried. 

No ifs or buts— 

In her study, Manx steepled her hands on the desk in front of her and leant forward earnestly, to deliver her own verdict on the situation. 

Manx:   
It's quite clear that   
He was totally nuts. 

Persia:   
It's all his fault his mother died. 

He tugged a dossier out from under the natty Black Watch tartan blanket, flicking through it to show Farfarello as a surprisingly normal-looking child, various still images of crime scenes, Farfarello as a weird adult leering at the camera in a police mug shot and newspaper cuttings detailing scenes of carnage and mayhem – mainly at churches, convents, seminaries and various other God-related locales. 

Persia:   
Once he'd lost his mind   
All he lived for 

Was harming himself,   
And killing for kicks. 

Torturing God. 

Manx:   
He was a bloody-minded,   
violent sod! 

Yes, Manx had shed her air of professional detachment, but in Farfarello's case she felt she was quite within her rights to. There was really no way one could remain objective about, well… a bloody-minded violent sod like Farfarello, was there? 

Persia:   
Who liked to think his sins were justified. 

All:   
When Farfie said God was better off dead   
You knew he was out of his mind. 

When he went to kill nuns   
'Cause he found it fun… 

Youji:   
He was nuts. 

Omi:   
Weren't he just! 

Persia:   
Death was kind. 

In his bedroom, Nagi knelt in front of his desk, staring wistfully up at – oh, horror! Oh, terror! How could he sleep with the thing without getting screaming nightmares? – a considerably more than life-size portrait of Farfarello posing dramatically with that dreadful extendable spike of his. He had been caught in the act of creating some kind of Farfarello Shrine: the portrait was surrounded by candles and flowers, and two sticks of incense were burning. 

Nagi:   
His parents tried to trick him,   
The poor man was a victim!   
He had good cause to sin –   
Just look at how his God hurt him!   
No matter what he did   
Poor Farfie couldn't win. 

And he collapsed on his laughably undersized bed, burying his head in the pillow and thinking dark thoughts about anger and grief and, of course, revenge. A furious telekinetic is not a pretty sight. It was to be hoped the castle was well-made. 

Persia:   
And then he made   
His fatal error. 

I know 'cause he gave   
Me this note which reads 

Now Persia produced a note from beneath his Black Watch tartan blanket. Ken, with a complete lack of decorum, tried to tug it down in order to see what was written on it, and when that didn't work he got to his feet and went to stand behind Persia, all-too-obviously reading over his shoulder. The note appeared to have been written with some brown stuff. Chances were that said 'brown stuff' was oxidized blood. 

All:   
Oh, come on –   
He was mad! 

Farfarello:   
I've gone quite insane   
And I'm missing half my brain   
It's great news because God hurts when I bleed!   
Ha! 

Persia refolded the note, his eyes closing momentarily as a mark of respect for the dead. Omi had gone to stand on his other side now, and he traded a glance with Ken over the top of Persia's head. Persia had seen Farfarello, hadn't he? 

All:   
When Farfie said God was better off dead   
You knew he was out of his mind. 

When he went to kill nuns   
'Cause he found it fun… 

Youji:   
He was nuts. 

Omi:   
Weren't he just! 

Persia:   
Death was kind. 

Even Crawford and Schuldich were getting into the swing of things now. Schuldich was looking at Crawford as if he'd kind of like to lead the American into another dance – Crawford was concentrating on everything else in the hope Schuldich would let things lie. All the same, the couple still looked worryingly knowing. As did Youji. As it had already been revealed that dinner was 'long pig' and not _genuine_ pig, why they looked so self-satisfied was… well, it was probably about to be revealed. 

All:   
When Farfie said God was better off dead   
You knew he was out of his mind. 

When he went to kill nuns   
'Cause he found it fun… 

Youji:   
He was nuts. 

All:   
Whoa, whoa, whoa… 

Omi:   
Weren't he just. 

All:   
Hey, hey, hey… 

Persia:   
Death was kind. 

All:   
_Farfie!_

And then Youji sprang to his feet and grabbed the ends of the hanging tablecloth like either a pissed-off housewife or a member of the Magic Circle hoping to perform the old 'yank the tablecloth away leaving the cutlery' trick. It was to be hoped it was the pissed-off housewife as, when Youji yanked away the cloth, ninety percent of the dinner service ended up on the floor. However, Youji's aim hadn't been to do a magic trick, so that was all right. He had only been hoping to show his guests what was under the tablecloth. 

It was really no wonder the table was coffin-shaped. The table was, in fact, a coffin. A glass coffin. Inside of which were the mortal remains of the late, lamented Farfarello. He was not a salubrious sight. The only way things could have gotten any worse was if he had sprung out of the coffin and pounced on someone. Luckily, he didn't. Even so, it was rather a disgusting thing to be confronted with. 

That would be why Youji and the staff had looked so knowing. 

Schuldich had obviously been in on the surprise – either that or he was a complete sadist, because he started laughing. It wasn't easy to tell quite which. Crawford allowed his lips to twist upwards in a sardonic smile. Persia quickly wheeled his chair back, allowing himself to look rather ruffled. Ken just stared, or he did for all of a second and a half before Omi screamed and practically flung himself into Aya's arms, clinging to him in a genuine panic. 

Which was Omi's Fourth Big Mistake of the night. 

"Oh, Aya!" Youji exploded, almost literally too. "How _dare_ you!"   
Ken looked as if he'd have quite willingly hit someone. "I knew it! I'm not bloody _tall_ enough am I?!" 

Omi looked between Youji and Ken in a panic. Oh, dear. It wasn't his imagination – he had just done something very, very stupid. Now Youji was advancing on him and Aya with a look of murderous fury in his eyes. Ken was in an identically foul mood, all his body language saying that here was someone who had just lost his temper. Ken could get incredibly angry, not to mention horribly rash with it, if he put his mind to it so Omi was, needless to say, more than a little perturbed. He squeaked and tried to duck behind Aya as Youji made to take a swipe at him. 

Luckily for Omi, he was spared the consequences of his Fourth Big Mistake by Ken, who made a misstep so immense it made Omi's pale into insignificance. 

Before Youji's blow could connect with Omi's cheek, Ken – wondering even as he did so why he was bothering about Omi when Omi certainly didn't seem half that concerned about him – caught his wrist and gave Youji a vicious right to the jaw. A punch which, unlike Youji's own, _did_ connect. Which, needless to say, even if he had been in the mood to hit someone and do it hard, was A Very, Very Bad Move. 

Youji turned. He had obviously been taking lessons from Aya and Crawford, because affixed to his face was the nastiest Death Glare he had ever managed in his life. It suggested that he had seen Ken's future and it was both short and nasty. Never mind Omi jumping his beautiful Aya. That could wait. Youji had just been cracked around the jaw by Ken (who had been getting on his nerves anyway) and it _hurt_. That might well leave a bruise, dammit! How could he be gorgeous and sexy with a badly bruised cheek? Oh, Youji was not a happy man. Not one little bit of it… 

Ken did the only thing he could think of to do under the circumstances. He ran for it. 

Youji, naturally, followed Ken as he ran from the room, nearly getting clocked by the dining room door as Ken slammed it in his face, hoping only to slow him down. Cursing, Youji stalked on through, breaking into a run himself as soon as he reached the corridor. Crawford and Schuldich exchanged glances as dinner descended into a ludicrous, inexplicable game of Chase – Schuldich's baffled, Crawford's not a bit surprised. He'd known this was going to happen. 

Omi, meanwhile, looked up at Aya in confusion. What was going on? 

**'Try Again, Ken'**

Ken could have told them what was going on. He was being chased down a corridor by Youji, to what end had had absolutely no idea, and he didn't like it one little bit. 

Youji:   
I'll tell you once   
But not thereafter   
You'd better shut up,   
Ken Hidaka. 

Ken slipped and tried to right himself, allowing Youji an opening, and the chance to back him up against one of the banisters, molestation on his mind. Ken disputed Youji's right to do this by trying to nail the man where it would hurt most. The blow landed less than an inch short of home base – an unlucky miss, that – but it distracted Youji for long enough to allow Ken to break free. 

Youji:   
You sure could do   
With being smarter.   
You'd better shut up,   
Ken Hidaka. 

May I enquire   
If you can spell 'desire'? 

Omi grabbed Persia's wheelchair and, giving it a hard shove, took off after them. What was going on? He'd slept with Aya and it was Ken Youji was nuts with? Something, Omi thought, isn't right here! 

Youji:   
I know for sure   
You're way too pure   
And too old for it to be appealing   
Do you understand   
A single thing? 

Ken found the laboratory door. Ken had problems with the laboratory door. The bloody thing wouldn't open! He glanced back over his shoulder and wished he hadn't when Youji loomed up all of a meter away. Youji smirked and reached out with one hand, trapping Ken against the wood. Rather less intelligently, he also grabbed the door handle. The inevitable happened: the door opened and they both lost their balance, landing on the floor in an undignified sprawl. Frantic, desperate to get out of his second Far Too Compromising Position of the night, Ken struggled out from beneath the slightly dazed Youji and made a break for it. Youji jumped up and ran after him, slamming the door in Persia's face. 

Youji:   
Don't lose your head   
Obey your master.   
You'd better shut up,   
Ken Hidaka. 

They'd ended up on the laboratory balcony. Ken saved himself a bit of time and trouble by ignoring the ramp down, running for the rail and leaping over it, landing neatly on the floor. Youji, unfortunately, followed him, stalking over to his wall control panel. Omi, meanwhile, was doing things the easy way. He and Persia had taken the lift. 

Youji:   
Don't you protest –   
You need a rest. 

Omi and Persia had barely left the lift before Youji threw another lever on his control panel, with the bizarre consequence that both of them ended up stuck to the floor. And Ken, a few feet away, likewise. 

They say you should always be prepared for every eventuality. Youji, it seemed, had adopted this as his maxim. Any man who could think to install a Selective Floor Sticking Device as well as a honeymoon suite and a giant magnet into his laboratory was taking preparedness to absolutely ridiculous heights. 

"What the fuck—" Ken had discovered the problem.   
Omi looked around himself quickly, trying to work out what was happening. "I can't move…!" He said in amazement. "Youji-kun, what have you done?" And have you done all this to other people before? If so, how many times? Next to him, Persia shoved at the wheels of his chair, unable to budge them an inch in either direction. 

Crawford and Schuldich appeared on the balcony above them, watching the scene with mild interest. Aya had made it about halfway down the ramp and was reclining against the wall. He wasn't about to ask what Youji thought he was doing but all the same, what did Youji think he was doing? It didn't make any sense to Aya. It didn't make any more sense to Ken but he, as was his way, was considerably more vocal about it. 

"I'm probably going to regret asking this," Ken said wearily, "but _what the hell's going on_!" His last five words were delivered at a shout.   
Youji smiled easily. "That was my sonic transducer." He explained. "Like it, Kenken?"   
"It's very interesting." Omi said earnestly. "How does it work? I would have thought that kind of thing would be impossible to build—"   
Persia held one hand up as if calling for silence. Now the initial shock of being literally glued to the spot had passed off, he was back to looking remarkably serene. "Perhaps now isn't the time to ask, Omi." He said quietly.   
"Isn't it enough that we're trapped?" Ken demanded. Youji, lounging by the control panel, smirked at him and it suddenly occurred to Ken that they'd all been pretty damn stuck already without being literally stuck to the floor. "Okay. _More_ trapped, then…" 

Youji:   
You know perhaps   
It's for the best   
'Cause left alone   
You're a disaster. 

Ken:   
Hey! 

Persia had been thinking. Like Ken, he was wondering what was going on. Unlike Ken, he had been trying to think about it as opposed to demanding to know what was going on and getting ignored for his pains. As he watched Youji out of the corner of his eye, the playboy walked languorously across the floor and climbed the ladder to the tank, striking another casually seductive pose. 

Ken looked rather pointedly at Omi and determined to ignore Youji. He'd apologize profusely to the boy for cheating on him and he'd try. Sexy Youji may have been but there was one major drawback to him. The man was a maniac! 

"You won't find non-psis quite the easy mark you're expecting, Youji." Persia said, looking sternly at the lounging blonde. "This sonic transducer – it is, I suppose, some kind of audio-vibratory physiomolecular transport device…"   
Omi looked taken aback. Not so Ken. He had been lost all evening and this conversation was only making him loster. "Huh? Could you run that by me one more time? Audio what?"   
"I wouldn't strain your brain worrying about it, Kenken." Youji said easily. "But perhaps you should have paid more attention in science class."   
"Science class, hell!" Ken shouted. "It doesn't make any sense! And stop fucking calling me that!"   
Up on the balcony, Schuldich grinned hugely. "Sounds like a sex aid to me." He gave Crawford a quick grope which the man managed to ignore almost completely, gently but firmly removing Schuldich's hand from his backside and giving him a light slap on the wrist.   
"Not now, Schuldich."   
"How so?" Youji asked, but light dawned almost immediately. "Oh, the audio-vibratory bit. With you."   
"So it's a sex toy?" Ken asked.   
"No it is _not_ a sex toy Ken-kun!" Omi cried, blushing furiously. He supposed he couldn't blame Ken for not keeping up with scientific breakthroughs given that he was far more interested in soccer but dear God this was getting embarrassing! Wasn't it _obvious_ that Persia wasn't talking about a marital aid? "It's a device which is capable of breaking down solid matter and projecting it through both space and time, if it's made right!"   
Ken blinked. "That's not some kind of a death ray, is it?" 

Youji smirked, leaping elegantly from his perch on the ladder and jumping over to his captive audience, closing in on Ken. Standing behind him, he grabbed him round the waist. Ken flinched and tried, almost instinctively, to pull away but the Sonic Selective Floor Sticker rendered it impossible. 

Youji:   
Try. 

Again. 

Ken. 

You'd better shut up,   
Ken Hidaka.   
You'd better shut up   
Or you'll fuck up.   
You'd better shut up. 

Youji had progressed from holding Ken's waist to a kind of junior molestment. Ken wasn't at all happy about this and was struggling to make Youji let him go without overbalancing in the process. No easy task when the guy was right behind him and he had somehow ended up stuck to the floor. Omi, too, was beginning to get annoyed. He nearly pitched himself over in trying to get over to Youji. 

Manx:   
Then he shouts out— 

Ken:   
Stop! 

He punctuated the cry, one of purest frustration, by, finally, managing to grab a hank of Youji's hair and give it a vicious wrench. Vexed, Youji pried his hand off and staggered back, out of Ken's range— _Not the hair_! Omi had to bite back a cry of relief. That was more like it, Ken-kun! 

Youji:   
You're acting kinda crazy –   
Better cool it, baby. 

Omi:   
Youji Kudou,   
Think you're having a   
Real big problem.   
Your mind's gone. 

Crawford and Schuldich had meandered down to ground level by now. At Youji's signal, Schuldich hurried over to the control panel and yet another convenient lever. This one controlled the Medusa Ray. A single tug and the furious Omi was, somehow, turned into a statue. A naked statue. Youji's operation added a whole new meaning to the phrase 'preparedness'. 

Persia:   
Youji Kudou,   
Think you're having a   
Real big problem.   
Your mind's gone. 

Youji frowned. This was getting to be a bit too much. He gestured to Schuldich again and Persia, in scolding pose, was also transformed into a naked statue. Complete with stone glasses, stone Black Watch tartan blanket and stone wheelchair. Which left Ken, who was by now obviously on edge. 

Ken:   
Youji Kudou— 

All things considered, Ken was probably rather relieved to be turned into a naked statue too. 

Youji sighed, leaning wearily against the wall. He felt, after all that, as if he needed a break. That, sadly, wasn't about to be granted to him. Down the ramp, past the quietly censorious figure of Aya, who had watched the entire confrontation in mute disapproval, came Nagi in his striped pajamas, dead set on a confrontation. He looked about as furious as Youji thought he'd ever seen him, which admittedly wasn't saying much, but all the same he did seem decidedly teed-off. 

"Youji." Nagi said, stopping short at the foot of the ramp.   
"Oh, hi Nagi." Youji said wearily. "What is it?"   
Nagi turned away from him, evading his eyes. "I've had enough," he said calmly. "Look at this." He gestured at the laboratory, a single expansive gesture taking in the whole sorry scene – the statues, the sternly disapproving Aya, so still he might as well have been a statue himself, Crawford and Schuldich by the control panel, Youji himself. "Is this any way to live your life? This is excessive. And you're only doing this because you can. Is that why you killed Farfarello? Well I'm tired of it, Youji. You're never satisfied with anyone, are you? Me, Farfarello, Aya over there… even that weird couple who showed up tonight. Why can't you make a choice and stick with it instead of messing around with everyone? I don't want any part in this any more. From now on you can count me out!"   
"Nagi?" Youji said quietly. "Do shut up, there's a good boy." 

And, stalking over to the control panel, he shoved Schuldich away from the Medusa Ray control and turned Nagi into another naked sculpture. Raising his eyes to Aya's, he frowned deeply when the redhead looked away, folding his arms. The gesture said he, too, wanted no part in any of this, that he thought it was all stupid and he'd be out of here just as soon as he found his katana. Oh, and a coat. Scowling, Youji turned him into a naked statue out of sheer spite. If Aya was going to be like that, he could just be made of stone and nude for a while. He'd soon change _his_ tune! 

Crawford and Schuldich gently but firmly pried Youji away from the lever after that. They had no wish to become naked statues as well. 

Author's note: I know. This last song should have been about Omi. But you try fitting 'Omi Tsukiyono' into the space intended to fit 'Janet Weiss', never mind rhyming it. It's a complete wash! Hence Ken. 


	7. Further Indignities

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show** A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila 

**Part Seven: Further Indignities**

"It's not easy having a good time." 

Youji sighed as he wandered through the collection of statues which, up until five minutes ago, had comprised a good half of the people in the house. One would have presumed that Youji had a good relationship with an insane homosexual sculptor or was one himself going by his collection of statues of slightly unbalanced (mostly) young men in odd positions. 

Absently, Youji threaded past _Righteously Enraged Teenager_, alias Omi, and rested one hand casually on top of the head of _Annoyed Man in Wheelchair_, formerly known as Persia. What to do with these people? He didn't think he'd be keeping them. His garden wasn't big enough and he wasn't sure if he wanted to stick Ken – _Young Man on Edge of Nervous Breakdown_, or something similar – by the pond. Or _Annoyed Man in Wheelchair_, for that matter. The neighbors would think he was mad. 

He left the collection of statues and headed over to the control panel, where Schuldich and Crawford still loitered. Crawford, naturally, was not at all surprised by this turn of events – how could he have been? Schuldich just looked bored. 

"Even smiling makes my face ache." Youji said gloomily, then rubbed at his cheek. "Or is that because Ken fetched me one? Bloody Ken. What'd he want to do that for anyway?" 

Crawford kept quiet. Personally, he could have thought of at least ten possible reasons why Ken might have wanted to punch Youji off the top of his head. _He_ wanted to punch Youji, though obviously not over Omi (there were more than enough other reasons to want to smack Youji one without getting defensive over a cheating boyfriend you'd cheated on). Patience, Crawford… your time will come. Your time is coming very, very soon. No need to get Youji's guard up. Still, Youji appeared to be sunk in a self-pitying haze and probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. He was far too busy getting melancholic. 

"Aya's behaving just like Farfarello did!" Youji was lamenting.   
Schuldich snorted. "No he isn't. Aya's being mean and moody and glaring at everyone a lot. If he was behaving just like Farfie he would have started screaming and trying to stab you in the face long ago."   
"He's throwing me over for a bishounen!" Youji turned on Schuldich, angrily. "Just like Farfarello did for Nagi! Oh, Aya! Why?" he mourned, turning to gaze at Aya's naked statue (_Pensive Adonis_, Youji would have called this one, and he wouldn't have kept it in the garden either) with mournful eyes, then quickly looked away again. "My children turn on me."   
"That's what kids do." Schuldich said wryly. "You give 'em your youth then they fuck off and leave you. They don't write, don't call…" He laughed, shaking his head, then abruptly snapped out of it. "Hey, Youji. Master. Whatever your name is. When can we go back to America? Or Europe? Or anywhere but here? I grow weary of speaking Japanese, being so much taller than everyone else and being unable to buy my clothes off the peg!"   
Crawford smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "At what point did you start buying your clothes off the peg, Schuldich?" 

Youji ignored the young man's discontent. He was gazing up at Aya and starting to smile. He had just had an idea. A very, very good and fiendish idea. But maybe he'd leave Persia out of it. Make that he'd definitely leave Persia out of it. It would never do to get that man involved in anything other than a very minor way, if at all. But the others… well, why not? He grinned, his depression seeming to melt off him. Amazing how the thought of Aya in shiny PVC shorts could cheer a guy up… 

"Schuldich," Youji said lightheartedly, "I'm grateful to both you and your… let's call him your partner Crawford… for all the help you have given me. Such loyalty as yours is remarkable and deserves to be rewarded. And you will both find, in time, that when the mood strikes me I can be quite munificent."   
"This is some kind of _jam tomorrow_ deal, isn't it?" Schuldich said suspiciously.   
Crawford laughed briefly and humorlessly. "We ask for nothing, Master."   
"And that," Youji said, at his absolute peppiest now, "I will have no difficulties providing." 

Youji stalked back through his art collection and to the lift, having to weave around Omi and Persia to do so. Maybe he should have waited for those two to get a bit further from the lift doors before he threw the transducer. Oh well, he thought, wriggling past Omi and into the cage, too late for that now, that'll just make what comes next that one bit easier. 

"But it'll have to wait." He posed by the lift cage and pretended not to notice that Crawford and Schuldich had exchanged a look which as good as said _I thought as much_. Well, at least they weren't surprised to hear it. "It is time for the floor show, if you'd care to watch. I can't leave my guests waiting for too much longer. That would be most impolite." 

And, slamming the lift door dramatically, he descended into the lower depths of the building again. He didn't see Schuldich give the departing lift a very rude gesture indeed. 

"_Floor_ show?" Schuldich said incredulously once the lift had rattled away. "_Bra-ad_…"   
Crawford smirked. "As long as he's distracted."   
"Yeah, but a floor show? Is he nuts?" Schuldich shook his head, his tangled hair hanging in his face. "No, don't bother answering that. What do we do now? Are we still playing along?"   
"No, Schuldich." Crawford said, his smile growing malicious. "We are not. It's time."   
Schuldich returned the grin. "That's the best news I've heard all year." 

And he grabbed Crawford by his rather loose tie, dragging him forward by it. With one hand on the knot of Crawford's tie and the other disordering his neatly-groomed hair, Schuldich kissed him passionately and almost bruisingly hard. 

Which was why Manx had decided not to bother burying her head in her hands until it was needed. Now it was needed and she wouldn't have wanted to waste the gesture. Sighing deeply, she ran her hands through her distinctive red curls. Floor shows. As if things hadn't been weird enough without that. Ken had been utterly correct, Youji really _did_ need to go and get his head read. She should have started those lectures on morals long ago. Youji had needed them and needed them quite badly if his current behavior was anything to go by. Too late to do anything about it now. 

Worse… _Persia_ and floor shows. Oh, dear God. Never mind, Manx. Never mind, at least it's not you out there and it could have been. She would have to cope with poor Persia making an exhibition of himself. At least she had a book-lined study and a wing chair and one of the longest and most portentous of her portentous speeches to deliver. There were still plenty of ways that things could have been worse, hard though it was to believe. 

Manx straightened, ran her fingers through her slightly tangled curls, and carried forbearingly on. 

"And so, by an extraordinary twist of circumstance, it seemed that destiny had decreed that Ken and Omi were to keep their appointment with Persia after all." Manx said with a calmness that did her no end of credit given her own grave misgivings. "But none of them could possibly have foreseen the conditions under which their meeting would occur! And so, bare hours after declaring their love for one another, both Ken and Omi had fallen victim to the unnatural passions of their depraved host. This in itself was proof that Youji was a man of scant morals – and some persuasion. What additional debasements were the once-innocent couple to be subjected to?" 

Oh no. She'd had to ask that question, hadn't she? That was a very dangerous question to ask about any guest, however unwilling, in the Kudou _ménage_! As Omi had rightly pointed out, never enquire just how things could possibly become any worse. It's always possible for things to get much worse than one could possibly begin to imagine. Manx hadn't wanted to know how things could get worse. Unfortunately, it seemed she was due to find out. So were Ken and Omi. She felt very sorry for them – not to mention for poor, beautiful Aya! 

"And what, too, of the floor show that Youji had mentioned? After midnight, in a secluded, empty house? What diabolical plan had seized Youji's crazed imagination?" I'll second that, Manx thought grimly. _Crazed imagination_… yes, most apt. I like it. "What indeed. The one thing that was plain was, from the iniquities of the night thus far, it promised to be no Sunday School outing." 

It had been easy for Youji to think of an outfit for Aya, or more precisely for Aya's statue. 

It consisted of a pair of ridiculously brief and clingy shorts and an abbreviated zip-front top, both in shiny black PVC, long leather gloves, fishnets and black ankle boots. With high heels. And – why not? – a few discreet touches of kohl. Yes, all in all it was a very nice combined package and something he would never have been able to get Aya into any other way, so why not make the most of the situation? Youji was pleased with himself when he had done, stepping back to admire the now-dressed statue from all angles. Very nice indeed. He was excelling himself tonight. 

The others (comprising of Omi, Ken and Nagi – Persia would have to shift as best he could; older men, and bearded older men at that, didn't float Youji's particular boat) were a bit more of a problem. Finally Youji gave up and dressed them all the same as Aya, though naturally he didn't expect them to pull it off with Aya's aplomb. Nagi in particular looked very strange; he was normally such a model of upright dignity that PVC clothes looked very odd indeed even when they were only gracing his effigy. At least Ken and Omi were no stranger to shorts. Whatever, though. It would do. And he might as well have them match with Aya. It would make things look more… unified, yes that was the word, unified. 

Job done and the now-dressed statues happily ensconced on stage behind the closed curtains, Youji ran gleefully off to change his own clothes. He wanted to both match his 'co-stars' and look masterful and that would necessitate, perhaps, a rather severer ensemble. And a long coat. Or maybe even a cloak. After humming and hahing in front of a full-length mirror for an embarrassingly long length of time, he finally hit on the perfect outfit. Grabbing one of his long coats and throwing it over his shoulder, Youji pulled his sunglasses down his nose and struck a sultry pose in front of the glass. Ah, yes. That, he thought, would definitely do. Perhaps the riding crop was overkill, though. 

Oh, what the hell. Slamming shut his closet doors, Youji ran back downstairs to prepare for the second of tonight's Main Events. Such a shame the convention guests had all gone home! Oh, well. A floor show without an audience was still a floor show, wasn't it? And it wasn't like the others would care if anyone saw them or not. It would merely have been nice, for the sake of his not inconsiderable vanity, had there been someone to witness his second great triumph of the night. Or should it have been his third? Seducing three guys, including both halves of a couple, one after another within the space of one and a half hours had been no mean feat either… 

Youji thought briefly of roping Crawford and Schuldich into serving as an audience, but they seemed to have vanished. Well, their loss. 

Youji stood in the wings with his hand poised on the last of his convenient levers, his coat draped over Persia's unwanted statue, which had been shoved discreetly into one of the corners so Ken couldn't ruin the event by tripping over it. Had Omi seen what was written by said lever he would no doubt have wondered, yet again, if Youji had done all of this before. Why else would he have a De-Medusa Ray, or whatever the thing's name was, mounted on a wall in the backstage area? Unfortunately Omi, like the others, was beyond commenting. 

Cast onstage – not that any of them could exactly have wandered off in the interim – footlights on, curtain up, smoke machine quietly ticking over in the wings, stage lights on. Let the floor show begin! 

**'Rose Tint My World/Floor Show'**

Youji smirked in triumph and threw his lever dramatically, watching from the wings as Nagi sprung to life. Though he couldn't have had a clue where he was, what he was doing or where that bump 'n' grind style music was coming from, he rose to the occasion quite admirably, though the dance was a little on the stiff side and he did appear to be both defining and describing the term 'jailbait' in the process. Perhaps it was the shorts. 

Nagi:   
Something that I'd quite forgot   
Was that I liked Youji quite a lot.   
I know I used to find him hot,   
But now I really wish I'd stuck with Tot.   
And the only good times that I've had   
Were with a guy who was totally mad.   
Rose tints my world keeps me   
Safe from my trouble and pain. 

He froze again immediately afterward, but didn't turn back into a statue. He merely struck, on the near side of the stage, an uncomfortable-looking sensual pose and stayed there, seemingly utterly oblivious to the statues around him. Well, all for the better. 

Youji threw his lever again, very nearly bursting into applause when Aya animated. Aya, admittedly, was no great shakes as a dancer but Youji really couldn't have cared less. It was enough for him that he was gawping at a barely-dressed Aya as he struck a range of sexy poses the redhead would have torn his particulars off for even suggesting he struck under any other conditions. 

Aya:   
I was born to be Youji's bride   
But it's a life that I just despise.   
My problem is I've too much pride   
And that's a fact I simply cannot hide.   
I'd stop all this with my glower,   
But the Death Glare has lost its power.   
Rose tints my world keeps me   
Safe from my trouble and pain. 

Then, like Nagi, he froze. Stood on the far side of the stage this time, in another sexy pose but it was a manly one. Even that outfit couldn't make Aya look less manly. Youji wolf-whistled at him, but the man didn't even turn round. Again, all for the better – ordinarily Aya may well have run him through for it. 

Youji was so busy gawping he nearly missed his cue for the lever. He remembered just in time, this time resurrecting Ken. At which point Youji realized something he should have done long ago: Ken, clumsy enough in trainers, was obviously not going to be able to cope with high heels. The boy was having obvious difficulties keeping his balance. The best one could say for him was at least he was _trying_. 

Ken:   
It may be I'm dense   
But this makes no sense!   
I know I've lost my innocence,   
But what the fuck's it for?   
I simply cannot understand   
Jesus, what's this guy got planned?   
I only know it's underhand   
Why won't someone explain? 

All things considered, Ken didn't deal too badly with the inevitable loss of balance. He _did_ at least manage to control his fall and end up in the obligatory Uncomfortable Sexual Pose, so Youji couldn't have been too disappointed. 

And then there was Omi. One last tug of the lever and the little blonde animated. Omi, unlike the others, had a certain natural grace; in fact he seemed to be busy showing his companions How It Was Done. Unfortunately, Youji didn't watch him for very long – he was far too busy rushing off in order to make his own cue, grabbing his coat off Persia's head on the way there. 

Omi:   
My submission   
To all this hedonism   
Was perhaps a bad decision   
Or maybe just insane.   
It could be abnormality   
When faced with sensuality   
To care about morality   
But I feel quite ashamed. 

And Omi, too, froze, in between Aya and Ken. He had thrown all his weight onto one leg and looked not at all put out by it. Put together, the four looked as if they were posing for a photograph entitled 'Outfits and Positions I Would Not Like My Mother To See Me In'. 

Behind the little group, a set of white velvet curtains. What with the black outfits it made quite a nice contrast, at least for the few seconds that they remained in position. 

Within moments the curtains were opening slowly and dramatically as a strange and tinny little fanfare played, revealing a cheap mock-up of what appeared to be a basement, complete with couches – flimsy-looking things, obviously not intended to be sat on – a large TV monitor and a set of spiral stairs, all done in shades of black and white and gray. It was almost a shame Ken and Omi were temporarily unavailable for comment, as they would both have had something to say about that if they'd been given the chance. It was perhaps for the best that they weren't. Ken in particular would have completely ruined the mood Youji was working so hard to create should he have done. The floor was wreathed with dramatic billows of dry ice. 

At the top of the stairway – the only substantial thing in that crazy forgery – and picked out by the beam of a spotlight: Youji. 

He was now dressed from head to toe in black leather, a pair of sunglasses perched on the end of his nose. The black gloves he wore were leather, the long coat he had slung over one shoulder was leather, his leather pants were even more indecently tight and low-slung than the last ones were. His top revealed his lean, well-toned stomach and perfect navel (though it was, however, rather less revealing than the ones he had forced his 'co-stars' into). The tails of his long coat billowed dramatically in the artificial draught of a wind machine. 

The riding crop really hadn't been necessary. He looked every inch the master and commander as it was and, realizing that, Youji discreetly tossed the crop into the wings. He'd only have to find somewhere to put it anyway. He wanted both hands free, thank you. 

**'Fanfare/Don't Leave Me'**

As the fanfare ended, Youji draped himself wistfully over the balustrade of the stairwell, somehow making the rather absurd position look sexy. He raised his eyes heavenward, a mournful expression on his face. 

Youji:   
Whatever happened to Aya-chan   
To make her poor brother so blue?   
For he loves her best   
Doesn't care for the rest   
And I wanted him to notice me too. 

Youji began to descend slowly down the stairs, his eyes locked onto Aya's. The other four turned to face him as he gestured to them, Ken rather ruining the dreamy slow pace at which they did this by getting back to his feet first. All four looked quite disturbingly vacant, though how disturbing rather depended on the individual. 

Youji:   
Oh, Aya, please listen   
This is my position   
Your taking a lover   
Would not betray her.   
Yes, I've turned to others   
But still I keep wishing   
That I could have you there   
I'm missing your kissing. 

Flinging his coat away with a dramatic gesture Youji, from a standing start at the foot of the stairs, sprang into the all-enveloping fog, temporarily vanishing from sight. There was a splash. 

Youji:   
Can't you believe me?   
Whoa, whoa, whoa... 

The smoke cleared, revealing a small, but deep, swimming pool, at the bottom of which, picked out in tiles, was the stark image of a white cross on a black background. The plain design didn't detract for a moment from the spectacle of Youji, sunglasses still perched on the end of his nose, bobbing happily about in an inner tube. He was already soaking wet and didn't care at all; he was having a great time. He grinned as, slowly, the other four approached the edges of the pool, the water casting strange patterns of light and stippled shadow across the semi-darkened room. 

Youji:   
Don't leave me. Need me.   
Don't leave me. Need me. 

Half out of his head or not, Ken was Ken and therefore impetuous. He jumped into the pool to join Youji without a moment's hesitation to be joined, albeit with less zeal, by Nagi. And Aya was Aya, regardless of mental state. He had to be practically shoved into the pool by the giddy Omi. 

All:   
Don't leave me. Need me.   
Don't leave me. Need me.   
Don't leave me. Need me.   
Don't leave me. Need me. 

It was Youji's idea to start getting… 'feely'. Discarding the swim ring, he located Aya and, grabbing him round the waist and pulling him close, he began giving the redhead one of those dazing, utterly mind-numbing kisses that had so stupefied Ken earlier. The idea was embraced, if such a word wasn't inapt, with enthusiasm by the others. It may have been thanks to Youji's influence, but all five seemed more than in the mood to give their all to all. 

Youji's attempt to keep Aya all to himself wasn't one that came off (Ken, for instance, had come to the conclusion that being shorter than Aya wasn't a problem after all), but with three other willing candidates to do interesting and maybe illegal things to he decided he could live. No, it wasn't easy to keep one's head above water and conduct a group grope at the same time, but the five gave it their best shot all the same. Hands met hands, limbs entwined, kisses were given and received in gleeful profusion. 

Backstage, the De-Medusa Ray control tripped all by itself, belatedly reanimating Persia who thankfully found himself back in his suit rather than stark naked. Wheeling himself out of the wings with the half-formed idea that he needed to find Ken and Omi and get them all the hell out of here, the man caught sight of the pool and the… events transpiring therein. He stared. He felt himself getting a little hot under the collar. He tried to tear his eyes away, without much success. 

Persia:   
We've got to get out of this place   
Before we all lose our wits!   
I've got to fight, not get uptight.   
Or I may succumb to disgrace. 

A well-placed gust from the wind machine dislodged his natty Black Watch tartan blanket, revealing one of his legs. A leg clad in a fishnet stocking and ending in a chic black high-heeled ankle boot, the identical brother of those Aya and the others had been dragooned into. That leg appeared to have a mind of its own and it now commenced executing a series of perfect high kicks. His wheelchair set off rolling across the stage whilst Persia desperately struggled to regain control of his wanton leg. 

Persia:   
And my life will be lived… just for kicks. 

None of the others noticed or cared. They were all rather caught up with their own affairs, if again that wasn't a poor choice of phrase, not to mention now spending most of their time underwater. Ken – perturbed, bewildered – managed to break the surface for a moment or so, largely because he still needed to breathe. 

Ken:   
Maybe I'm dense   
This makes no sense— 

Aya pulled him back underwater. Barely a second later, Omi surfaced briefly to snatch a gasp of air. 

Omi:   
Who cares if it's insane? 

And he dived back beneath the surface again, dead set on locating – he didn't actually know who it was but one of the others had been groping him enthusiastically and it was great. Only he suspected it hadn't been Ken. Ken was otherwise occupied but, given that so was he, Omi didn't exactly feel he had grounds for complaint. To put it simply, Omi had just discovered why it was that swinging and swingers' parties were so popular with some people. 

For a moment, as Omi vanished back beneath the surface, all was still or at least it was as still as it was ever going to get under the circumstances. If one ignored the swimming pool, its waters roiling and bubbling like some sinister witch's brew, as well as Persia's ongoing battle with his depraved lower limbs, things could almost have passed for peaceful. A flurry of feathers cascaded gently onto the churning, foaming waters of the pool. It didn't seem to matter. 

Silence. 

Broken by Youji as he was boosted out of the pool, water pouring off him, on a water lift courtesy of Aya with a little help (but not much, mind) from Ken. Just for a moment, the five looked as if they were trying to perform some kind of bizarre, phallic take on a Busby Berkeley water ballet with Youji as an insane male version of Esther Williams, though Berkeley would never have suggested his stars wore PVC swimming costumes. And the fishnet tights might not have been exactly his speed either. Certainly not on an all-male cast. 

Soaked to the skin, hair plastered to his head and water cascading off him, Youji sprang to the front of the front of the stage. Things were working themselves up to some kind of a climax. 

**'I Look Normal Enough By Day'**

Youji:   
My, my, my, my 

I look normal enough by day   
But don't let that lead you astray.   
Believe it, baby, when I say   
I'm an assassin and it's quite okay.   
So be careful what you say and do   
Or I might just have to kill you too.   
Rose tints my world   
Keeps me safe from my trouble and pain. 

Once Ken and Nagi had dragged Omi from the pool, Aya pulling himself gracefully out unaided, every one of them wet through and caring not one whit, they hurried over to join the completely frenetic Youji, currently forming a kick line of one at the front of the stage. It was something to see. By a bit of luck the others managed work themselves into height order, so the willowy Youji was flanked by Aya on one side and Ken on the other, whilst Omi clung to Aya and Nagi to Ken. Ken was still a little unsteady on the heels, but being able to lean on Youji helped keep him – not to mention Nagi – upright. 

All:   
We look normal enough by day   
But don't let that lead you astray.   
Believe it, baby, when we say   
We're assassins and it's quite okay.   
So be careful what you say and do   
Or we might just have to kill you too.   
Rose tints my world   
Keeps me safe from my trouble and pain. 

Persia rolled back and forward behind them, through billows of dry ice, his fishnet-clad leg still kicking frantically as he ricocheted from one side of the stage to another. He made another desperate attempt to force his leg back down beneath his now utterly disheveled blanket, a frantic expression on his face. 

All:   
We look normal enough by day   
But don't let that lead you astray.   
Believe it, baby, when we say   
We're assassins and it's quite okay.   
So be careful what you say and do   
Or we might just have to kill you too, too, too   
Rose tints my world   
Keeps me safe from my trouble and pain. 

And who knew where things could have gone from there, had they not been interrupted? 

Author's note: I based the 'Floor Show' outfits on Illuminati Gackt. For those who haven't seen the photos, Illuminati Gackt is a skanky visual rock ho who wears very shiny black PVC, hot pants and fishnets. As to why: 1. I've been mean enough to these boys as it is and 2. I find this more, uh… _appealing_. 


	8. Hello to Oblivion

**The Weiss Kreuz Picture Show** A Weiss Kreuz fanfiction by laila 

**Part Eight: Hello to Oblivion**

The doors to the theater burst open, light and smoke both streaming into the otherwise darkened room and revealing, stood in the doorway, a pair of silhouetted figures. Both tall, both sharply dressed, both carrying high-powered handguns. The light glinted off the lenses of the glasses one of the figures wore; the other shook his head like a shampoo commercial and tossed his long, shaggy hair from his face. Crawford and Schuldich stepped into the body of the room, dressed in immaculately-tailored, spotless white suits, shirts of the palest lavender and neat white ties – a sharp contrast to their earlier slightly disheveled appearance. 

Then they both started to applaud, slowly and ironically. 

Youji froze, his eyes suddenly wary behind the slightly skewiff sunglasses which by some minor miracle had remained on his nose throughout the Floor Show, swimming pool 'session' and all. Omi gasped in surprise, taking a pace back from Aya; the realization was dawning quite rapidly upon him that once again he had obviously been doing things he shouldn't be. Aya raised his head and glowered nastily at the interruption. Ken and Nagi took one look at one another then pulled quickly away with a matched pair of small, startled yelps – understandable, as they'd barely exchanged names and what they had seen of each other hadn't exactly impressed either of them. Persia finally wrestled his wheelchair, not to mention his delinquent leg, back under his own control, pulling his blanket firmly over his knees and stopping short in the wings, facing the stage. 

After that nobody moved. The two groups stood and stared at one another – Crawford and Schuldich in quiet triumph, the little group onstage in varying amounts of bewilderment and alarm. The silence stretched out, became uncomfortable, then more than uncomfortable. Ken found the silence insufferable first and, being Ken Hidaka, he broke it. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Ken asked, staring at the newcomers. And what the hell am I doing, come to think of it? And where the hell had this outfit come from? What, to cut a long story short, the hell was going on?! 

And, for the first time that night, one of Ken's good questions actually got an answer. 

**'Crawford's Complaint'**

Crawford:   
Hey there, Youji   
Better bow to me.   
Your life's too free and easy   
Do you have no shame? 

The pair aimed their guns at Youji. Aya stepped away from him, then glanced back over at the blonde and froze. Youji looked stunned, almost wrong-footed, as if he hadn't even suspected he was being excessive. Omi, acting rather more prudently, grabbed Ken's wrist and dragged him to the comparative safety of the wings, wrapping his arms around his waist. Ken blinked, looked down at Omi, then pulled him close. He suddenly felt as if he wanted to cry and buried his head in Omi's wet hair to hide it. Omi clung to him, ignoring Aya's Death Glare. Nagi scrambled after them. 

Crawford:   
It's not hard for me to see   
That you think too differently.   
We shall be leaving presently.   
It's time to end this game. 

At a nod from Crawford, Schuldich turned to the doors. He was smirking. It was not a sight to inspire Omi with confidence. He knew he'd thought it way too many times tonight already, but he didn't like the look of this at all. Omi wanted to go home. If it hadn't been for the guns, he might well have tried to make a break for it than and there. 

"Wait." Youji said. "Wait! I can explain."   
"It's about time someone tried to," Ken said shakily, raising his head.   
Omi hugged him. "It's okay." He murmured. What was okay? Not the situation, that was for sure. "Youji-kun? Could that explanation take in why we're all dressed so weird?" He was glad when Ken suppressed a giggle, for all it was slightly frantic.   
Nagi tugged at his top, trying to get it to cover rather more of his midriff. "Yes, could it?"   
Youji glared at them. "Didn't I just say I was going to explain."   
"I doubt that'll be possible." Crawford said sedately. "But you can give it a go." 

Youji looked at him angrily, then drew himself up to his full height and started to walk slowly to center stage, giving Aya a gentle shove on the ass which got him moving into the wings. Nagi scrambled away from the others to take up a station next to a spotlight – not that he actually needed to bother to touch the thing in order to get it moving and trained on Youji. Once again, Omi couldn't help but marvel at how well-prepared Youji was. All the while, as his guests busied themselves creating the perfect ambience, Youji carried on walking, fixing Crawford and Schuldich – the redhead now facing back into the room and leaning on the wall, bored as ever – with a contemptuous glare. It was a shame he was soaking wet and his sunglasses were wonky, really. 

Ken, pulling himself together almost visibly, let go of Omi briefly to close the plain white curtains again, hiding the utter chaos of the strange basement set, the spiral staircase and the utterly inexplicable swimming pool. Who in the world, he wondered, installed a swimming pool in the middle of a stage (Ken was, needless to say, beginning to feel a little more like himself)? Youji aside, that was. Job done, he stepped back behind Omi and put his arms around the boy's shoulders again. If he closed his eyes, ignoring the fact that they were both soaked and dressed in weird visual rock style fetish wear, Ken found he could almost pretend the last few hours had never happened. 

In the middle of the stage, in the spotlight Nagi had trained on him, Youji tried to pull out a cigarette and light it, but both cigarettes and lighter were rather the worse for their dunking. Omi tossed him a spare packet and a box of matches. Youji lit up with a smile and a flourish, then cleared his throat. 

**'I Miss That Girl'**

Youji:   
Since the day that she was killed 

Guests:   
Oh, I 

Youji:   
Can no longer feel fulfilled 

Guests:   
Though I've tried 

Youji:   
She's the only one who thrilled. 

Guests:   
I can't lie 

Youji:   
But now her heart is stilled. 

He tugged his still dry coat around his shoulders, pearls of water caught on the hanging ends of his damp hair, and looked mournful. He was trying to avoid looking at the little group in the wings. Yes, Aya was there but Ken had his arms around Omi again and, considering how low he was feeling right now, Youji didn't think he wanted to see that. Ken meant nothing at all by it either, which somehow made it worse than if he had been being pointed. 

Youji:   
And, my God, oh how I long   
Just to hold her, now she's gone.   
And that feels so wrong   
I miss that girl. 

Youji and Guests:   
I miss that girl. 

Youji gazed regretfully over the footlights into the near-empty auditorium as it slowly filled with flickering figures, hazy and insubstantial as overexposed photographs – many of the faces familiar as those of his guests earlier that evening, but now dressed like theater-goers on a first night. It seemed as if Youji was due to get his audience after all. 

Youji:   
In the end I turned to lust 

Guests:   
So what's new? 

Though Youji didn't see it, Omi noticed Schuldich, still leaning against the rear door, stifle a yawn. He began to feel a little uneasy again, shifting his weight anxiously. His feet were killing him, too. 

Youji:   
But don't you think it's self-disgust. 

Guests:   
That ain't true. 

Youji:   
It's that her fate was so unjust 

Guests:   
Love is through. 

Youji:   
I doubt that I'm a man to trust. 

Youji descended the little stairway into the audience and began passing between his hallucinatory guests, smiling, waving and shooting seductive glances at the most intriguing ones. There was the little brunette who had been so taken with Aya earlier, and the blonde dominatrix who had alarmed Ken, now elegantly dressed and sat in a row with three other women, one of whom, wearing sunglasses, Youji found eerily familiar. They weren't alone. The little theater, for a moment, seemed veritably packed. 

Youji:   
'Cause, my God, oh how I long   
Just to hold her, now she's gone.   
And that feels so wrong   
I miss that girl. 

Youji and Guests:   
I miss that girl.   
I miss that girl.   
I miss that girl. 

The figures started to fade, vanishing as Youji reached the end of the aisle, striking a yearning pose in the glare of the spotlight which Nagi had followed him round with, leaving the theater empty save for Youji, his guests and his erstwhile servants. Neither of them, it had to be said, looked as if they were in any danger of being won over by his entreaties. It was a case of too little, too late if you asked the pair by the doors. That and Crawford and Schuldich were a pair of twisted little bastards anyway, and they knew it, so they just didn't care what Youji's reasons for his behavior were. 

Youji turned, fixing the entire room with the same almost childish grin he had given them after he had ice-picked Farfarello into an early grave. He laughed. He was nervous. He had to say he shared Ken and Omi's sentiments right about now – he didn't like the look of this one little bit. 

"Oh, you've finished?" Schuldich asked after an uncomfortable silence.   
"Yeah." Youji smiled at him, rather too nervily to be winning. "What did you think?"   
"Trite." Schuldich said simply.   
Youji looked affronted. "I was winging it…" he said defensively.   
"It was still trite, Kudou." Schuldich replied impassively.   
"But apposite." Crawford said. 

Drawing his gun, he began to advance on Youji, who backed toward the stage. He was no fool – he hadn't failed to understand Crawford's comment about Asuka being an apposite choice of subject. Maybe he should have delivered another paean to Aya's beauty. There was no way that could be worked round to getting shot in the head, could there? If only he had some kind of a weapon! But, of course, he didn't. He stumbled back toward the stage, wondering what, if anything, he could do. The answer seemed to be absolutely nothing, stand still and get shot and do it like a man. 

Okay. Okay. Um… Youji suddenly realized he was all out of levers. He wasn't quite _this_ prepared for any eventuality. 

"I am glad," Crawford continued, as he carried on walking toward the stage, Schuldich waiting by the railings with a scrupulously bored expression on his face, "that you seem to have understood me so well. For when I said we were leaving, I was of course only referring to myself and Schuldich. You see, you are to remain here, if only in spirit." 

Youji responded by stopping short and gazing scornfully at Crawford. He was amazingly good at it. Yes, what there was to do was to get shot and do it like a man. Well, if he had to die he was going to die with style. 

In the wings, the announcement had provoked equal amounts of consternation. If when Crawford said 'we' he meant himself and Schuldich and when he said 'you' he referred only to Youji, where did that leave the rest of them? Persia gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly whilst Omi stared between the two men, eyes huge and frightened. Aya looked instinctively around himself for a katana that wasn't there, or failing that anything that could have been used to defend himself. He couldn't see a thing. 

Ken, hesitantly, cleared his throat. "And, um… the rest of—"   
"Shh! Shut up!" Omi hissed frantically, slapping one of his own hands over Ken's mouth and holding it there until, sure that the boy had got the point, he lifted it away   
"Sorry." Ken murmured.   
Persia found his voice. "So that's your game, is it, Crawford?"   
Crawford turned to him, eyes cold. "Yes, Persia, I'm afraid to say it is." He didn't sound that upset, though.   
"So you're gonna kill him? What'd he do, goddammit?" 

Only Ken would have asked a question like that in all seriousness. True, Youji was a bit of an asshole and he was manipulative as sin, but it was perfectly legal to be a manipulative asshole, wasn't it? If it wasn't then the world would have been a lot more sparsely populated than it was now, Ken was double damn sure of _that_. It certainly wasn't a capital offense and who appointed Crawford judge, jury and executioner anyway? 

"You saw what happened to Farfarello." Persia said impersonally.   
"Well yeah, sure," Ken protested, "but you can't blame Youji for that, Persia! From what I heard Farfie was like that already! I mean the thing with the meat was gross but speaking as an assassin here, what's the deal with killing Farfarello anyway when he was a murderous bastard himself? If you've got to shoot him can't it be for something he's done? Like corrupting the morals of a minor or kidnapping Omi and me or something?"   
"They're not capital offenses, Ken-kun." Omi whispered, very glad that Ken still had his arms round him.   
Ken shrugged. "So? Then don't kill him." 

Crawford ignored him. He'd been right to think he wasn't going to like this kid. Ken saw the world far too simply. It was fitting, as the boy was far from an intellectual. Still, the only thing to do with someone like Ken was ignore him as much as was humanly possible. 

"Quite correct, Persia." Crawford said coldly, then turned from the group in the wings. They were distracting him from the vitally important matter at hand: killing Youji and going back to the States with Schuldich to continue his interrupted life of crime. He and Schuldich had a flight to make after all; they couldn't hang around here indefinitely. "Now, Youji Kudou, your time has come. Time to leave all of this behind." 

He gestured airily and contemptuously around him with the hand that wasn't holding the gun, a gesture which took in the whole of the theater, the damp young men huddled in the wings, the whole of the house and everything that was in it, then leveled the gun at Youji. The blonde drew himself up to his full height and gave Crawford a look of measured disdain. 

"Do your worst." He said. Determined to go out with style. 

As Crawford's finger tightened on the trigger of the gun, Nagi broke the silence. With a wordless cry of protest, he threw himself in between Crawford and Youji, arms outstretched. He wasn't thinking. That much was obvious. Had he chosen to use his head – not to mention his powers – there was no way that Crawford should have been able to touch Youji, or he himself for that matter. But Nagi wasn't thinking that clearly. After the boy's near-hysterical scream, the report of the gun seemed almost anticlimactic. 

Nagi was dead before his body had finished falling. 

Omi cried out in shock. Crawford cursed softly under his breath and cocked the gun again. Youji decided to hell with pride and made a leap for the curtains as Crawford fired at him again. The shot whistled past him as he grabbed the material and attempted to scale the . And the inevitable happened. The white curtains hadn't been designed to bear the weight of an adult male. With a single sickening crack, the proscenium came crashing down, the curtains and tab tracks collapsing on top of Youji along with several tones of plasterwork and assorted debris, the white fabric billowing over his limp form and shrouding it completely. 

Aya had witnessed all this from the wings, and now he sprang forward with a furious cry. Dropping to his knees in the middle of the billowing fabric, stirred and agitated by gusts from the still-active wind machine, he dug through the debris until he found Youji. 

Lifting the debris from on top of Youji and tugging him from the curtains, Aya picked him up gently and cradled him in his arms – an action which, had Youji actually witnessed it, would have shocked the blonde to the core. Youji, however, was beyond being shocked by such things, though it was impossible for Omi and Ken, watching from the wings and unable to risk getting any closer without becoming fatally entangled in the confrontation – both were unarmed and far from at their best; even Ken could tell that intervention would have been suicidal – to tell if the blonde was dead or merely stunned. 

Clasping Youji to him, the redhead raised his head and fixed Crawford with a look of pure hatred. It was exactly the kind of expression that the phrase 'if looks could kill' had been invented for and, for an instant, it left the American quite taken aback, giving Aya quite long enough to spring to his feet and make for the spiral staircase, Youji draped across his back. 

Crawford reloaded, firing repeatedly, grazing Aya several times with the slugs, once or twice severely, but failing to administer the coup de grace before the young man, making it to the top of the spiral staircase, vanished through the exit which Youji had made his own dramatic entrance through barely half an hour beforehand. 

Crawford made as if to hurry after them only to be restrained by – of all people – Schuldich, resting one hand on his shoulder and shrugging slightly. Leave it, Crawford, his gesture was saying. It's really not worth it. We've got more important things to worry about than where that one's gotten off to. 

"I don't know how much more I can take of this," Ken said into the silence that followed.   
Omi swallowed. "Me either." He said, voice tremulous. "Why can't we go home?"   
"It was necessary." Crawford said coolly.   
Schuldich shrugged. "Eh. Whatever. These things happen."   
"These things _hap_pen?" Omi echoed.   
Ken laughed incredulously. "You've just killed three guys and all you can say is these things happen?"   
"I thought you were an assassin." Schuldich said archly.   
"Yeah, but I don't go around saying crap like _these things happen_ after killing someone!" Ken yelled. 

Persia held up one hand for silence. Ken was, as ever, going about this the wrong way. That boy would talk them all into an early grave if he wasn't careful. Okay, it was a sell-out. Okay, he didn't want to be seen to agree with these lunatics. But all the same… he did want to get out of here alive. Maybe it was time they tried a different approach. There was nothing to be gained by taking a hard-line stance on this. Perhaps diplomacy would be the answer to all their prayers. 

"A decision had to be made." He said pedagogically.   
"_What_?" Ken retorted.   
Omi turned to him, blinking and startled. "Persia?"   
Crawford nodded, taking his glasses off and cleaning them with a pristine white handkerchief as he spoke. "Quite correct. You are an astute man, Persia. We have to be seen to make a stand on these matters." He placed the glasses back on his nose, tucking the handkerchief away.   
"You're quite right." Persia replied, somehow managing to ignore Ken and Omi, who were now exchanging glances over his head as if he had gone utterly insane.   
"Sorry about Farf." Schuldich said lazily, pushing his hair from his face with a languid hand.   
"Yes, well." Persia looked uncomfortable. "It may have been a blessing in disguise."   
Crawford smiled. It was nice to deal with amenable people for once. "Persia, you and your friends must leave now, whilst it is still possible. Schuldich and I have wired this entire house with explosives and will be detonating them on our departure. Go now." 

And he turned away from them, back to Schuldich. 

As the group departed hurriedly, Persia wheeling his chair like a demon, Ken slipping slightly on the heels he still hadn't had time to remove, Crawford gave Schuldich a small, but completely genuine smile. The slender German was throwing and catching a set of car keys, the keys flashing in the inadequate light as they spun through the air. 

"You knew all that would happen, didn't you Crawford?" Schuldich said with a grin.   
"Why else," Crawford replied levelly, "would I have decided that tonight was the night? Our time is now. We will be back in America within hours."   
"Ah, America." Schuldich smiled. "No more struggling with chopsticks. I take it you've got something big planned when we get there. Crawford?"   
"But of course."   
"Any hints?" Schuldich teased. Crawford's smile simply became secretive, and Schuldich shook his head in mock despair. "I see. No hints. Oh, well. I should be used to your ways by now, Crawford. You do like playing the game, don't you?"   
Crawford extended one hand to Schuldich; Schuldich took it, his grin becoming feral, wildly excited. "Come, Schuldich. There is work to be done." 

And, wrapping their arms about each other, the two young men exchanged a searing, passionate kiss before they, too, headed out of the castle. It seemed that there was something to be said for having to use the tradesman's entrance after all. 

A terrible roar, ear-spitting, so loud it feels the brain is being pulverized by the sound. A gust of flame. Debris, spiraling outward in all directions. A wave of superheated air, heavy with dust, forceful enough to knock an individual off their feet. 

Then an equally terrible silence. 

And then nothing at all. 

"Uh…" 

Later. How much later Ken had no way of knowing. The first thing he became aware of was the sensation of pressure. Trying to raise his head, he realized there was something on top of him. A heavy lump of something. With a combination of brute strength, stubbornness and more than a little luck, he managed to push the lump of something up far enough to allow himself to scramble free of it. Once he had pulled himself above it, the lump revealed itself as a renegade part of an interior wall. A charred, blackened part of an interior wall. It weighed a ton. In trying to move, he realized how badly his body ached. What had happened, had a building fallen on top of him or something? 

Somehow Ken got to his knees, coughing like a consumptive, and rubbed his eyes. He blinked. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and not entirely sure about where he was never mind what was going on or why he was there. The sun was up. Somehow, though he wasn't sure quite how he knew this, Ken felt as if there was something very important missing. Several somethings, in fact. 

Hang on. Hadn't there been a castle about here somewhere? 

Maybe a building really _had_ fallen on him. 

He was kneeling on top of a pile of rubble toward one edge of a bomb site, surrounded by dust and debris. It looked like a little bit of Berlin circa 1945 had been somehow transported through space and time to wind up here. What few trees were still standing were blackened and splintered. The castle was no longer visible, in fact no longer even existed except as a few charred pieces of masonry stood in an immense crater. A large proportion of the place seemed to have quite literally disintegrated. Still, that wasn't what he was missing. 

Well, at least I'm out of the castle now, Ken thought hopefully. That had been very important, hadn't it? Trying to get out of that castle… 

At which he suddenly remembered where he was and what was going on. 

Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the head rush, Ken looked unsteadily around himself. He rubbed at his eyes again and coughed a little more. He looked, though there was no way he could have been aware of it, an absolute mess. His face and arms were stained with soot and the dust from the explosion, dust which also clung to his hair. He'd lost one of his gloves, a seam had gone in his top and the zip was barely doing its job any more. The fishnets, unsurprisingly, were badly torn. He wouldn't have cared even if he had known. 

"Omi…" 

Where the hell was _Omi_?! 

Ken didn't even know where to start looking. Couldn't see a bloody thing. Just rubble and dust and debris and the charred leg of a statue. Persia's wheelchair, a wreck. Persia lay a few yards distant, barely any less of a wreck himself. The man, his own clothing ripped and stained, also covered in dust and soot, stared up at the morning sky, or at least Ken assumed it was morning anyway, as if there was something fascinating there. Ken barely noticed. 

"Omi!" 

He turned. Nothing. Trying to ignore a rising tide of panic, he stumbled forward, trying to think. If Persia was behind him and had been in the tunnels, and Omi had been in front of him, Omi would be further to the edge, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he? Could one reason with explosions? Ken tried to collect his scattered wits enough to think logically. Could he do that? He doubted it. He felt too dizzy and sick and dispirited. God, going through all that only to lose Omi now would be too much. He couldn't take any more of this. This was way too much to deal with for one night. 

Anxious, barely even thinking about where he was going, Ken picked his way over one of the larger piles of rubble, slipping slightly as he reached the apex and, losing his footing, tumbling down the other side and landing heavily on his front. Wincing, he pulled himself back to his knees. 

**'This Is Real'**

Ken:   
I really wish   
I understood   
But now I doubt   
I ever could.   
'Cause all I know   
Is that I should   
Be dreaming. 

Ken got back to his feet, propping himself up against the debris he had tumbled down, and called Omi's name again. And finally, behind him, something stirred. Omi, coughing, in a state of almost dangerous déshabillé, tugged himself out from the rubble he had been half-hidden under. He had sacrificed one of his boots in order to struggle free. His hair was a chaotic, wind-blown mess. The little blonde gazed distractedly around, blinking back tears, searching the blasted landscape. 

Omi:   
Although it's crazy   
This is real.   
We've gotta live   
Move on, and heal.   
But all I know   
Is that I feel   
Like screaming. 

"_Omi_!" 

Ken practically shrieked the boy's name, scrambling back over the rubble and grazing both shins badly in the process, slipping down to the dusty, arid ground in a kind of controlled fall. Wild-eyed and disheveled, beside himself with panic, spattered with soot and dust and his clothing torn, Ken was in no state to inspire any kind of finer feeling in anyone. Except, that was, in Omi. Omi didn't think he'd ever been gladder to see Ken in all his life. 

"Ken-kun!" He cried. "I thought—" He couldn't finish. "Oh, God." Ken said fiercely. "Never mind that…" 

Omi tried to get to his feet but stumbled, pitching forward and into Ken and knocking him off-balance. The pair landed in a flurry of dust just behind the pile of rubble, lying side by side. Omi didn't care. Enough for now that the night was over, that they were away. That they were together. He put his arms around Ken and tucked his head under his lover's chin. Returning the embrace, Ken rested his cheek against the top of the boy's head, little caring about the dust which polluted his hair. 

There was no way to make sense of what had happened to them, so better not even try. 

Back in her study, Manx stood by the side of her desk, gazing incuriously at an illuminated globe of the world which span smoothly but frantically on its axis. The dossier lay open on a lectern in front of her. Reaching out one slender hand, she arrested the globe's spin almost casually before turning back to her book for the final time, her expression utterly sedate. 

Manx:   
And so we see the morning sun   
Dispel a night which was quite dumb   
And thank the Gods this fic is done   
But where's the meaning? 

Closing the dossier and leaving it on the lectern, Manx turned and headed for the study door, reaching out to flip off the light as she passed. In the near-darkness of the study, now illuminated only by the faintly malign glow of the globe, her small sigh of relief went almost unnoticed. 

Phantom Voices:   
Me-eaning. 

She closed the door behind her and locked it. 

Some girls do insist on having the last word. 

**'Mild Spoiler – Don't It Figure?: Reprise'**

Ouka:   
Mild spoiler – Don't it figure?   
That's the end of this crazy picture.   
Weren't things getting insane in places?   
Disbelief marked the fangirls' faces.   
Oh – at the late night, double-feature   
Picture Show.   
This fanfic blows   
Oh – to the late-night, double-feature   
Picture Show. 

-ende- 


End file.
